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BOOKS BY MAI^Y HA^KIOIIUP NOK^IS, 


DOROTHY DELAFIELD. 

i 2 mo JO 

FRA ULEIN' MINA : or^ Life in an American German Family. 
i 2 mo. Illustrated go 

BEN AND BENTIE SERIES. 

Four vols. In a box. Illustrated. i6mo 3 oo 

Sold singly, if desired, as follows : 

BOVS AND GIRLS 7j 

CAMP TABOR 7j 

SCHOOL LIFE 7j 

THREE SUCCESSFUL LI FES 7j 


A DAMSEL 


OF THE 


EIGHTEENTH CENTURY; 


OR, 

CICELY’S CHOICE. 



3 


BY 



MARY HARRIOTT NORRIS. 

u 




NEIV YORK: PHILLIPS HUNT. 
' CINCINNA TI: CRANSTON STOWE, 
1889. 


t:zi 






Copyright, 1889, hy 
PHILLIPS & HUNT, 
New York. 


DEDICATED 


TO 

S. E. J*. 


The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, 

Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel.” — Hamlet. 


” She was a blessed woman,” said Dinah ; “ God hath given her a loving, self- 
forgetting nature, and he perfected it by grace.” 

” It was always given her when to keep silence and when to speak.” 

—Adam Bede. 



A BRIEF ACCOUNT 


OF 

TTTV-O OIF’ J^vlTT XjZP’E. 

WRITTEN FOR THE PERUSAL OF MT AUNT, 

LADY DULCIA VENABLES DE BOLYN, 

OF 

CALCUTTA, INDIA. 


6 Great Windmill Street, 
London, England^ 


CICELY MILLICENT HUNTER. 










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PREFACE. 


S HE author’s design in writing A Damsel of the 
Eighteenth Century has been as follows : First, 
to imitate the colloquial English of the upper 
classes in London in the latter half of the eight- 
eenth century ; secondly, to give a faithful picture 
of the fashions in dress, manners, and social usages 
of this period ; thirdly, to present as simply as pos- 
sible facts connected with the rise of Methodism, and 
especially the lives and characters of the Wesleys, 
socially as well as religiously considered ; fourthly, 
to introduce contemporary historical characters. 

The limitations, of course, of a brief story have 
made many omissions necessary. 

If Damsel of the Eighteenth Century shall assist 
young Methodists to a better comprehension of the 
versatility, statesmanship, high breeding and pro- 
found piety which made John Wesley one of the 
great men of English history ; if it shall incite them 
to study the great religious movement of the eight- 


8 


PREFACE. 


eenth century in England ; and if, finally, while lead- 
ing them to love supremely their own Methodist 
Episcopal Church, it shall make them liberal toward 
all other orthodox denominations, especially toward 
the mother of their dear Church — the Church of 
England — the author will feel amply repaid. 

Among many authorities consulted, the author 
wishes to acknowledge her obligations to the follow- 
ing: Life and Tunes of John Wesley ^ L. Tyerman ; 
Sir Joshua Reynolds, F. S. Puling ; Diary and Let- 
ters of Madame D' Ar May, Charlotte Barrett ; Horace 
Walpole and His World, Edited by L. B. Seeley ; 
Life of Wesley, Robert Southey ; Life of Wesley, 
John Emory ; Life of Wesley, Richard Watson ; 
The Epworth Singers and Other Poets of Methodism, 
Christophers ; History of Methodism, Daniels ; So- 
cial Life in the Reign of Queen Anne, Ashton ; 
Greens History of the English People ; Cyclopedia 
Britannica ; Cyclopedia of Biblical, Theological, and 
Ecclesiastical Literature, McClintock and Strong ; 
Essays of Thomas Carlyle ; Life of Richard Brins- 
ley Sheridan ; Mary Somerville’' s Life ; Life of Lady 
Mary Wortley Montague. M. H. N. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER I. PAGE 

I Leave School 1 1 

CHAPTER II. 

The New House 22 

CHAPTER III. 

A Dinner at Sir Joshua Reynolds’s 27 

CHAPTER IV. 

Mr. John Wesley 36 

CHAPTER V. 

I Go to Court 45 

CHAPTER VI. 

Martha Tells Me of Count Cagliostro 54 

CHAPTER VII. 

The Count Reveals My Fortune 62 

CHAPTER VIII. 

A Musical ' . * 71 

CHAPTER IX. 

Chesterfield 'Street. ' . . . . 89 

CHAPTER X. 

The Stolen Books ’ 109 

CHAPTER XL 

Father . * . ‘ ‘ . . . . . 124 


lO 


CONTENTS, 


CHAPTER XII. 

Waylaid by Highwaymen .... 

• 

• 

• 

PAGE 

132 

CHAPTER XIII. 

I Nearly Receive a Proposal of Marriage . 

• 

• 

• 

145 

CHAPTER XIV. 

The Handel Commemoration 



♦ 

159 

CHAPTER XV. 
The Methodists 



• 

172 

CHAPTER XVI. 
My Lord Carew 




195 

CHAPTER XVII. 
Fightings Within 

• 

• 

• 

201 

CHAPTER XVHI. 
Bath 


• 

• 

206 

CHAPTER XIX. 
Mr. Keble Suddenly Appears 

• 

• 

• 

218 

CHAPTER XX. 

The Field Meeting 

• 


• 

226 

CHAPTER XXI. 

A Leave-T aking 




236 

CHAPTER XXII. 
Quigley 

• 

• 

• 

241 

CHAPTER XXIH. 
By the Ingle 




253 

CHAPTER XXIV. 
Father’s Death 



• 

263 

CHAPTER XXV. 
My Wedding. . . . . . . 

• 

• 

• 

268 


A DAMSEL 


OF THE 


EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 


CHAPTER I. 


I Leave School. 



HEN father came home this afternoon for 


our usual dinner at three of the clock he 


took mother’s breath quite away by telling her that 
he was invited to Strawberry Hill this day week 
to one of Mr. Horace Walpole’s grand companies. 

Father has risen in the world of fashion very 
much since he was made “ Physician Extraordinary 
to her Majesty, Queen Charlotte,” and mother says 
she is glad, because it may prove a good thing for 
me. I hope it will. 

I am so tired of studying the needle, the French 
tongue, and to play on the harpsichord and violin 
at Mistress Roxana Hervey’s. For it is perfectly 
true, as she says in the public notice of her school, 
that young gentlewomen are “ soberly educated ” 
with her. 

Dearie me ! When I think of all the accomplish- 


12 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


ments I have acquired at Mistress Hervey’s I feel 
that my learning is sufficiently liberal to do me 
credit, even had I the good luck to be invited to 
Sir Horace’s. I can fancy myself playing the violin 
there to the delectation of the court gentlemen, who 
congregate at his place in great numbers. Mother 
thinks my wax-work and my paintings on glass a 
great addition to our drawing-room. And as for 
sweetmeats and sauces, I could, I believe, teach our 
new French cook, just from Paris, a thing or two. 

I suppose I must learn a little more of the good 
breeding for which Mistress Hervey’s school is fa- 
mous; but, if I could, I would not have Mistress 
Hervey’s manners. When she smiles I always think 
of wall-fruit grown in the shade. The smile is pleas- 
an<^ to see, and yet it is sour. 

Well, well ! to come back to Sir Horace. 

Father says the dinner is to be served at five of 
the clock. When he told mother this, although she 
is so amiable and so ambitious for progress, she said 
up and down that she thought it a very immoral 
hour, for that father could hardly get back to his 
books before ten of the clock, and then would stay 
up till midnight, still further endangering his health, 
which of late has become rather delicate. 


I LEA VE SCHOOL, 


13 


I made up my mind that father was indeed strid- 
ing fast into the broad ways of a wicked, though 
I must say it — all to myself — delightful world, 
when he just laughed at dear, sweet mother for 
thinking customs should be made for his conven- 
ience. He asked if some of her fine friends had 
never mentioned the great dinner at Northumber- 
land House, where nothing was served a minute 
before half past eight. 

Mother held up her two plump hands in horror, 
and ejaculated, “ The fashions are becoming sorry 
indeed ! ” when he finished by telling her that it 
was fully eleven of the clock before the guests re- 
turned to the drawing-room for tea and coffee. 

I think these new fashions very nice. 

I am so glad that we are soon to move into our 
new house on Great Windmill Street. I went with 
mother to see it yesterday, and it is indeed a fine 
place, and creditable, as mother says, to the cele- 
brated Dr. Hunter. 

If I were in father’s shoes I should quake so sore 
for fear of displeasing her majesty that I know I 
should prescribe poison. But then father never is 
afraid of any body. I heard him tell mother, though, 
when he thought I had stopped my ears with my 


14 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


fingers while studying, that King George was by 
no means a Jupiter, and Queen Charlotte still 
further from being a Venus, and that he could wish 
they were the last of the House of Hanover. 

She said, ‘‘ Tut, tut !” But I admired father very 
much for such a bold opinion. I have a similar one 
of father’s friend, Sir Horace. 

He looks like a parrot, with his long, curved nose 
and inquisitive eyes, and they say that he is the 
greatest gossip in London. I should despise being 
a gossip if I were a man ; but gossip, some of it, is 
necessary for a woman ; at least such is my private 
notion. For the conversation of women must be 
made up of knick-knacks of news — a bit here 
and a bit there. I often wish mother were more of 
a gossip. She does make me feel uncomfortable 
when I come to her with the sweetest morsel of 
news, and she just looks at me out of her great 
blue eyes as much as to say, Shame upon thee, 
daughter.” 

I suppose I am more like father than mother, for 
I notice that he has many tales to tell that are far 
more peppery than mine. 

Still, father tells what he sees, and I tell what I 
hear; and, as mother says, that makes a difference. 


/ LEAVE SCHOOL. 


15 


Ah ! when I can use these two brown eyes at 
court, and Strawberry Hill, and Hyde Park perhaps 
my stones will have a lawfully pungent flavor. 

O, what a rattle-brains I am ! 

I was going to tell about the new house, for after 
we had lived there awhile it would be too old a 
story for me to describe. 

In the first place, it is a brick house, built after 
the newest fashion. The rooms are wainscoted in 
oak and cedar. The stairs are so broad that two 
persons can ascend abreast. The windows have a 
solemn look, as they are long and narrow ; the glass 
is diamond-shaped and leaded. The chambers are 
lofty and the drawing-room walls are hung with a 
rich tapestry of a soft brown color, which I am sure 
will be very becoming to my complexion. The 
dining-room walls are covered with elegant em- 
bossed work to look like gilded leather, and it is 
so sumptuous that I am afraid that father’s set of 
gold plate that the city gave him will look almost 
mean beside it. Altogether it is a very fine house, 
such only as people of consequence could live in, 
and I long to be there. 

A very sad scene took place at Mistress Hervey’s 

this day. 

2 


i6 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


A little damsel, by name Evelyn Keble, a timor- 
ous, shy creature only nine years of age, and who 
has been wont to delight us with the most wonder- 
ful tales of her own invention, was stricken with a 
very great blow — no other than the death of her 
mother. 

As I was standing at a window looking upon 
Queen’s Square, on which our school faces, I saw a 
footman cross to the great front-door of Mistress 
Hervey’s, and heard him pound so well the brass 
knocker, that it resounded throughout the house till 
I verily could fancy an explosion of gunpowder or 
a terrible earthquake. 

I ran half way down the stairs to discover what 
he might have to say, and heard him announce the 
dreadful information to Mistress Hervey herself, 
who promised to speedily but tenderly tell the little 
Evelyn and send her home. 

The messenger quickly withdrew, as, by a law 
which has been in vogue ever since the great plague, 
he had also speedily to inform the minister of the 
parish and the two females who are appointed to 
visit dead bodies. 

It must be a grewsome thing to be a woman with 
such a vocation. 


/ LEAVE SCHOOL. 


17 


Well, to come back to the poor little Evelyn. 
When she heard that awful and momentous piece 
of news; the agony of her grief was such that Mis- 
tress Hervey declared that she had never seen sor- 
row take so appalling hold of one of such tender 
years. 

I watched a maid conduct the child from the 
school, and fancied till the chills crept down my 
back the woe of that honorable scholar and musi- 
cian, Dr. Keble, and wondered if his nephew James 
would speedily hear the news, and what they would 
do at the Lady Margaret Chapel, and mayhap at 
Westminster Abbey, if Dr. Keble could not for his 
grief conduct the music. 

And then I fell to thinking what an it had been 
my mother who was dead, until I burst into a great 
flood of tears, for I saw her as plainly as if it were 
so in very truth in the woolen stuff of which they 
do make shrouds, and the woolen lace and all with 
its black edge. I saw her two feet tied up in the 
bag made by the end of the shroud, the gloves on 
her dear hands, a chin-cloth about her wan face, 
and the forehead-cloth coming down to her very 
eyebrows. 

It was with great difficulty that Mistress Hervey 


i8 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


could learn what ailed me, and when she did she 
sent me home, where, O joy ! I found my mother 
alive and warm and beautiful, and with a strange 
piece of good news for me which for a time made 
me altogether forget the stricken Kebles. 

The news was none other than my father’s de- 
cision, which I truly think very wise, that my 
schooling abroad should stop, as it seems best to him 
that now, while I am in the heyday of youth, I 
shall go into society — although it is a full year be- 
fore mother wished — and lose no good opportunity 
of a settlement in life. 

Mother sighed and smiled all in one, when I 
clapped my hands in glee and lauded my father’s 
excellent sense. She fairly horrified me when she 
said solemnly that she sincerely hoped that English 
civilization would in time so far advance as to make 
it less common for girls to be given in marriage 
while of such tender years. 

‘‘ Nay, but mother,” I cried, “ I am sixteen, and 
you were married at that age.” To which she said, 
“Yea, and for that same reason I hope your wed- 
ding-day will be at least three years off.” 

Men know more than women, even such women 
as my mother, and if father should be pleased to 

m 


/ LEAVE SCHOOL. 


19 


have me married this coming year I should see no 
reason to object. 

I wonder what name would go well with mine. 
Cicely Millicent Hunter is a high-sounding appella- 
tion, and I should not want to lose it for a worse. 

I did think, before James Keble went to sea the 
first time, that he looked at me with an admiring 
gaze ; but father, I ween, would be more ambitious. 
And besides, “ Cicely Keble” sounds sadly common- 
place. Surely, if the famously beautiful Gunning 
sisters married with otherwise all odds against them, 
and married, too, noblemen of such exalted rank, 
then the daughter of the Physician Extraordinary 
to their Majesties, and whom I overheard Sir Joshua 
Reynolds say was as fair an English beauty as his 
eyes had rested on, may hope to do great things. 

Although but one day is passed since I writ the 
above, our invitation to Mistress Keble’s obsequies 
has come. It is very solemn. Its deep black bor- 
der is diversified with prophetic symbols which 
make my flesh creep. A death’s-head is at the top, 
on either side of which is a melancholy skeleton. 
One is Father Time, holding his sickle with a sad 
but awfully determined countenance, very awe- 
inspiring ! “ Remember to die ” is printed on the 

% 


20 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


black border in letters as white as death. Hour- 
glasses, shrouds, cross-bones, pick-axes and shovels, 
arranged to make a most doleful ornamentation, add 
greatly to the momentous words announcing the 
hour for interment— “ at five of the clock in the 
afternoon.” 

Father received also a complete set of mourning, 
as Mr. Keble desires him to be one of those friends 
who are to hold up the pall, also an enameled 
mourning ring, three pennyweight twelve grains in 
weight. 

We went to the funeral, and O ! it was sad to 
see little Evelyn, her bonny eyes red with weeping, 
her pretty mouth with a constant quiver, as if she 
would fain cry aloud but dare not. 

James was not there, being far out to sea. 

I felt very wicked for thinking of him, and con- 
sidered myself well punished for vanity by his 
absence, for somehow with the last look I gave 
in the mirror before leaving my room, it was as if 
James were glancing over my shoulder and admir- 
ing my red cheeks and dimples. I have three dim- 
ples, and they will make me think of James ever 
since Evelyn told me that her cousin always kissed 
;her in. her dimple. 


/ LEAVE SCHOOL. 


21 


Dear, dear ! what a foolish thing to write about 
in the middle of an account that I would fain make 
properly grave. 

We went in a mourning-coach drawn by six 
horses to St. Gregory’s burial-place, and ours was 
one of eleven coaches. 

When the defunct was taken from the hearse, it 
was followed by many men in long cloaks, the serv- 
ants of the household, the chief mourner and five 
assistants, and also many relations and friends. 

It was betwixt seven and eight of the clock that 
evening before we turned away, but I did not do so 
before I had furtively taken the little Evelyn in my 
arms and hugged her while my scalding tears fell 
on her young face. 

I held mother’s hand while we wound our way 
slowly back to London, and hoped it would be 
many a long day before I left her house for my 
own. It is strange that I always turn to mother 
when I feel lonesome, though father makes a great 
pet of me and calls me by the most winsome 


names. 


22 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


CHAPTER 11. 

The New House. 

t T is the early spring, and I think I shall always 
remember the sweet influences of this particu- 
lar one, because we are just moved into our new 
house. The famous Sir Christopher Wren was the 
architect, so that I am sure it is as perfect as a 
house can well be. 

It is wonderful how one thing begets the desire 
for another. We need many more servants, a lot 
of fresh furniture, and we all seem to have such a 
rage for buying that I should think a plague or 
some other awful visitation of sickness would be 
required for father to get enough money together 
to fit up such a splendid mansion. 

And when I think that my parents have left the 
dear place where they have lived the thirty happy 
years of their married life, where my infant brother 
and sister died, and where I was born, and where 
things were certainly orderly and beautiful and 
bountiful enough to suit any body, and have sur- 


THE NEW HOUSE. 


23 


rounded themselves with all this added grandeur, 
as father assures me, chiefly for my sake, I feel that 
I. must indeed be inexpressibly dear to them, and 
that I am bound not to disappoint their wishes and 
ambitions. 

I am half afraid of our grand new footman when 
I consider that father gives him a whole crown a 
week for gloves and powder, that he has a fine sil- 
ver snuff-box, and a watch from which he studies the 
time whenever any body is in sight. He has even 
a saucier frown than Mistress Sheridan’s footman, 
who, methinks, has more style than ours, since by 
her express order he is compelled to wear a sword. 
Mother will not concede this latest touch, however, 
as she avows it would give an atmosphere of war 
to our peaceful household. 

But I started out to say that Mistress Sheridan 
called on mother this day to ask “ How do ye ” 
through this same magnificent footman, who also 
presented his mistress’s compliments. 

Mother was pleased, of course ; for though every 
body gossips about Mistress Sheridan, still every one 
is glad of her notice, for she is a woman of great 
parts, and is, in this respect, like Lady Mary Wortley 
Montague, who has seen, I ween, more of the 


24 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


world than any other dame in London, and who 
is learned in books beside. If she had eye-brows 
I should like her better. Looks do go a great way 
with me. Still, my lady is called handsome, and I 
confess myself in awe of her when in her presence, 
and having a tongue-tied mouth, although my 
thoughts are busy about her. Father says that he 
is sure she will be called a famous woman and good 
when those who deride her have long been dead, 
buried, and forgotten, and that he sets much store 
by her acquaintance. 

O, fie ! When I try to tell a tale I am like a 
meandering stream that winds into so many crooks 
and curves that it bids fair never to reach the ocean. 
Where was I? Trying, forsooth, to tell about the 
new house. Methinks I have time enough left to 
describe my own chamber, at least, for it is there 
that I shall have many a laugh, although but little 
weeping, I sincerely hope. In this room I mean to 
be more pious than of yore, becoming more familiar 
with my Bible and prayer-book, and endeavoring, 
as dear mother has more than once urged, “ to grow 
in grace," which, I will say all to myself, is to me a 
most mysterious and solemn expression, and makes 
me now think of angels and God, and now of 


THE NEW HOUSE, 


25 


ghosts, according to the time of day and state of my 
spirits. I do think, though, that since my confir- 
mation I have been more reverent and thoughtful. 
Perhaps, as the Archbishop of Canterbury says, I 
shall “ grow up in the most holy faith.” It will 
take me a century to get to be as good as mother, 
if I go on as slowly as I have begun. 

If father had six daughters instead of one, I know 
I should not have a room like my present sumptu- 
ous one. When mother expostulated, saying that 
there would be nothing left for me a few years 
hence to enjoy, he answered : “ Nay, she is our only 
lamb, and her fold shall be fleece-lined.” 

I have a bed like a fairy’s dream. It is silvered 
all over, and rests on the backs of two silver swans 
so alive and graceful in expression, that my fancies 
carry me aloft whenever I lie down in it. It stands 
in a recess lined with white silk sprinkled with blue 
flowers, and in the day-time can be quite shut out 
of sight by the palest blue silk curtains. There is 
a deep fire-place in my chamber into which the 
wind roars down the deep-throated chimney, o’ 
nights, making an eerie sound. Near it is a sofa, 
blue and adorned with silver lace, while beside it is 
a table upon which my precious mother has laid 


26 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


Thomas a Kempis and Jeremy Taylor for sad and 
serious and devotional hours. Curtains of rare In- 
dia silk which father got at the East India House, 
a carpet of soft gray with uncut pile, a toilette- 
table before one of the windows, all lace and silk 
in blue and white, and small jardinieres of bloom- 
ing flowers in my two sunny windows, complete an 
interior elegant enough for a princess, and crown 
me, Cicely Millicent Hunter, daughter of William 
Hunter, Esquire, in my own estimation, the happiest 
and most fortunate maid in London. 


DINNER AT SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS'S. 


27 


CHAPTER HI. 

A Dinner at Sir Joshua Reynolds’s. 

^jj^ATHER is having his portrait painted by no 
less a person than Sir Joshua Reynolds. 

This brings the great artist to the house some- 
times. 

Every-where we go, nowadays, we hear Sir 
Joshua this and Sir Joshua that, so great is his 
fame ; and, what is very pleasing to us, endless 
praise on the exceeding likeness the painting bears 
to father. 

Mother and I are getting well acquainted with 
this flower of English portrait-painters, between 
whom and Gainsborough there is, to my mind, no 
comparison. He called my father “the great sur- 
geon ” in speaking of him to mother. It was 
pretty to see her soft eyes dilate and the color 
flicker in her cheeks. Mother blushes as much as 
I do, and father, very facetiously, I think, calls us 
his pair of girls. His portrait is truly magnificent, 
and displays his noble, massive head and speaking 


28 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


features to good advantage. The pugnaciousness 
which his enemies ascribe to him is also veritably 
in his face, and, to my mind, sets it off. 

When I see the crowds leaving his lectures from 
the dissecting-room, which, to my original dismay, 
is right under our very roof — but now that I am 
used to it there I am glad for father’s sake — why, 
when I see these young and old men going out, and 
hear all the fine things said about the Hunter lect- 
ures and the Hunter discoveries in medicine, even 
though father is long-winded enough to sometimes 
talk two hours, I plume myself much that I am 
his daughter. 

But when I revel in the sumptuous splendor of 
that part of the house which is especially designed 
for mother and me, and then observe father’s frugal 
habits, his untiring industry, and also know that he 
is up with the lark to have time for his many duties, 
then say I to myself, “ For shame. Cicely Hunter; 
you do not deserve to be the daughter of such a 
man ! ” 

And methinks Sir Joshua had that same thought, 
for I caught him looking at me through his spec- 
tacles most quizzically. There was a smile on his 
gentle mouth, which I love, and think very beautiful 


DINNER AT SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS'S. 29 


notwithstanding its scar. I am still puzzling myself 
whether it might be a smile of approval instead of 
a smile of scorn. 

I am dying to be invited to his house — to one of 
his ridiculous, delightful dinners, where every body 
takes care of himself and yet has such a good time. 
Father will of course be asked, for Sir Joshua has 
already found out what irresistible anecdotes he can 
tell, and mother will go because father does. But I? 
I must seek an opportunity to make the acquaint- 
ance of Miss Offy Palmer, his niece, whom report 
names his heiress, and then, perhaps, though in a 
roundabout way, I shall gain my point. 

Who could think that even while I was writing 
down the above longings the invitation for which I 
was fairly consuming away should come — and that 
my name should be writ out in it in full, as grand 
as you please ! 

Farewell, school-days, indeed ! Mistress Cicely 
Millicent Hunter now steps upon the stage of life. 

And now I am back at home, just after the din- 
ner. While it is vividly in my mind I will tran- 
scribe it, although I am half dead with sleep. 


30 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


To think that I have been at one of these famous 
dinners, and that I am in a fair way to go to many 
others — if the attention bestowed on me be an augur 
of my success in society ! But, alas ! perhaps it was 
for father’s sake alone that I was asked, and noticed, 
and not partly because my wit is ready, although 
it is said that Sir Joshua invites only those who 
have very good intellects. 

Just twice as many people were asked as could 
sit around the table, and dinner began at the new 
hour, five o’clock promptly, although not nearly all 
had arrived. As the late guests kept thronging in 
those already at the table got more and more 
crowded, and as for the service, though Sir Joshua 
keeps such a retinue of servants, it was certainly 
every man for himself.” 

Our host’s manners were so unassuming — al- 
though no man, I believe, ever had the chance to 
drink in more honeyed flattery. His face, while 
gentle, is certainly most expressive. 

And I met Miss Offy, who pleased me much, 
although her elder sister is said to be more shrewd. 
Still it is this gentle, dull one that holds her uncle’s 
fancy ; why I know not, unless the uncle and niece 
are like kittens, loving softness, order, and peace 


DINNER AT SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS'S. 31 


above all else. It is said that Sir Joshua will never 
quarrel. 

Though we all helped ourselves to the different 
viands so freely, the meal was, after a manner, an 
orderly as well as sumptuous one ; for it consisted 
of three courses and a superb dessert. At the second 
course we had little pies with mutton in them, 
which I liked greatly. Take it as a whole, this din- 
ner-party put me in a great flight of spirits, and 
altogether pleased me vastly. I have added to the 
people I knew Mr. Richard Brinsley Sheridan and 
his wife, who is still young — but twenty-seven. 
She is famed as a poet and a critic, and certainly 
every body knows of her as originally the renowned 
and beautiful singer. Miss Linley. 

Mr. Sheridan has the most brilliant eyes I have 
ever seen. His hair, mixed freely with powder, 
softened his somewhat ruddy features. His man- 
ners made me feel of such great importance while 
he was talking to me that I entirely forgot he 
could crush me in a second with his flaming wit, 
had he so chosen. 

I wish that James Keble were a man like this 
great writer, and methinks I could be bewitched 

into marrying him, though he were a dunce. 

3 


32 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


What fiddle-faddle all this would be to my wise 
father, could he read it! I often feel in the fidgets 
lest some one by accident should discover these, my 
most secret opinions, which I take such a strange 
pleasure in writing out, and which I never could 
think of letting any one’s eyes but yours see, Aunt 
Dulcia. 

I have left the very gist of what I had to say 
about Sir Joshua’s dinner till this morning. 

I had intended to rise earlier than my wont, but 
I slept too soundly, and was in the midst of a 
lovely dream — about being maid of honor to Queen 
Charlotte — when I was roused by a medley of street 
cries. While I lay making up my mind to get up, 
though it was already so late, they smote my ears 
with a novel sound, as if I had never heard them 
before. “ Ripe strawberries,” chimed forth delect- 
ably, as also “ Ripe sperigas ; ” “ Delicate cowcum- 
bers to pickle,” made me right hungry ; and when 
one lusty voice screamed, “ Twelvepence a peck, 
oysters ! ” I could stand it no longer, but sprang 
out of bed and dressed me as quickly as possible 
for breakfast. 

And now here I am, back in my room again. I 
have said my prayers and read from my Bible and 


DINNER AT SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS'S. 33 

Jeremy Taylor, though I doubt in these degenerate 
times if many young ladies in my station take that 
trouble. But I believe I am somewhat religiously 
inclined, and especially on Sundays and saints’ 
days. 

Dear mother says that life should be a prayer, 
and that we should be ready at all times to take 
that strange journey on which all must go, and one 
for which, though so momentous, we can make no 
other preparation than that of a meek and quiet 
spirit dependent upon God. 

I cannot fancy myself quiet in any sense, and as 
for meekness, well do I know that no one is more 
important to me than myself. 

Still I am meek — or humble or fearful, I can- 
not say exactly which — when I remember the young 
Lord Carew, whom I met at Sir Joshua’s, and with 
whom I conversed a good half hour. 

He is a gentleman of five and twenty or there- 
abouts, of an unusual figure for tallness, and with 
such a manly address that I pleased myself with 
looking up into his face with as much deference as 
I would assume to the great artist. 

Lord Carew was as freely powdered as Mr. Sheri- 
dan ; but he is fairer, and has a pair of truly somber 


34 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


eyes that pierced me like needles and drew me like 
magnets. My heart fluttered so against my bodice 
that when I spoke to him I feared me he would hear 
the tremble in my voice ; but, if he did, no waver- 
ing of his eye betokened it. 

He asked me to tell him who different persons 
were, and when I answered I could not, for I was 
present to make new acquaintances chiefly, but 
would nevertheless fain be of service to him, he 
bowed most gracefully and said that sometimes 
one new friend answered better than a host of 
acquaintances. 

I smiled, and then the knowledge of my three 
dimples popped into my head and made me blush. 
Then I recalled that mother had said that my robe 
was very becoming when my cheeks were properly 
red, and then they grew so hot that I was sure they 
were crimson as summer roses. 

I tried to stand up very straight in my fine dress, 
made for the occasion. It was all of white, with the 
most delicate lace ruff, an inch or more in thickness, 
lying softly and low about my throat, around which 
were clasped mother’s pearls, while on one arm was 
a string of pearls five rows deep. My hair was in 
loose, puffy curls all over my head, and down on 


DINNER AT SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS'S. 35 


either shoulder hung a long curling lock. My 
skirts were straight and full and very long about 
my feet ; so long that I did not walk around much, 
for fear of showing myself unaccustomed to such 
voluminous draperies. 

I felt an inward vexation when dear father ap- 
peared for the purpose of separating me from this 
delightful young lord, for it was time to go home. 
But I was greatly pleased when he begged of father 
to assist me to my Sedan chair in so courtly a man- 
ner that father gave him a kindly, though watch- 
ful, glance and assented. 

I feel almost afraid to put it down in black and 
white — though he did an eminently proper thing — 
that Lord Carew lifted my hand most gallantly yet 
respectfully to his lips as he withdrew. I shall 
doubtless become used to such attentions, but at 
present I am overwhelmed, as if something strange, 
but delightful, had happened. 

I wonder at my childish taste while at Mistress 
Hervey’s in thinking so much of James Keble. 

How we change as we see more of the world ! 


36 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


CHAPTER IV. 

Mr. John Wesley. 

jll LIKE this “ gay and gaudy world ” better and 
better, although the most religious people that 
I meet appear to prize it mighty little. 

Father’s poor health these days makes mother 
sad at times, and when mother is sad I worry a lit- 
tle too. I am sure I do not see why father should 
busy himself to such an extent. He has a great 
fortune, he is eminent, in favor at court and in so- 
ciety, and he has the new house and mother and 
me. But since he has his suite of rooms fitted up 
so completely for his lectures and experiments, I 
believe the throng of place-seekers and patients 
grows greater, and he more ambitious to excel, or 
more determined to do good. I suppose it is to do 
good, but, when I think of all his high-sounding 
titles,! do believe the applause of the world means 
very much to him. But fie upon you. Cicely Hunter, 
for criticising your father ! May God forgive you 
fpr such presumption ! 


MR. JOHN WESLEY. 


37 


Did not I feel of consequence last Sunday when 
the beadle of St. Paul’s bowed and smirked to father, 
as we pattered over the marbles under the cool and 
stately arches, and made such an ado in seating us 
that many heads were turned wonderingly and ad- 
miringly ! 

And though I had on only a simple linen jacket 
and gown I could not have been more looked at, if 
I had trailed into the cathedral in a robe of cloth of 
gold. 

I peeped out of the corners of my eyes without 
turning my head, and yet saw well to the right and 
left ; but my Lord Carew was not among the gentry. 
I am afraid he does not favor church-going, or, in- 
deed, piety of any sort. 

It is said that there is great deadness in spiritual 
life in London. I do not know how that may be 
but certain it is that any deep or pious thoughts I 
have are fairly put into me by mother ; for no one 
else speaks to me otherwise than as if this life would 
go on forever. 

I hear the servants talking of meetings they at- 
tend where the zeal is such that prayers are offered 
far into the night, and that there is early service 
where men and women assemble with something of 


38 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


the passion and yearning for higher things that I 
read of in lives of the saints and in Jeremy Taylor. 
But when I spoke to mother of all this she said, 
yes, it was true ; and was an excellent, conserving 
thing for the middle classes and for great sinners 
also ; but that I did not need meddle with such 
forms of worship, or, indeed, know aught of them, 
for I had been well trained in the grand and holy 
Church of England, which had laid down what was 
necessary, in opening the Bible to the use of all and 
in giving us the Book of Common Prayer, which 
contains a suitable petition for every want. 

Still I am curious, and some morning, if I 
awaken early enough to steal from my swan’s nest, 
I shall go with Martha, my maid, to this morning 
service. I do not believe it would be wrong, since 
people who congregate there do so to pray and 
worship. 

It is certainly true, for I heard the gentlemen say- 
ing so once, when they were talking together over 
a dinner father gave, that the new religion had 
reformed our prisons and had helped abolish the 
wicked slave-trade. Another strange thing they 
said was that it began at Oxford ; and Oxford I 
have always believed was a place for gentlemen and 


MR, JOHN WESLEY, 


39 


the Church. So I shall keep my ears open, and my 
eyes lose little when I am awake. 

The great clock in the hall is striking four, and I 
must dress for dinner. Since we have been in 
the new house we dine at five o’clock. There is an 
ugly pimple on my cheek, but I will make a beauty- 
spot of it with a piece of court-plaster shaped like 
a new moon. Father will look grave, I know, as he 
abominates such devices ; but this pimple is my op- 
portunity. Father has tried to scare me with the 
story of Lady Betty Killigrew, who killed herself 
by quackery and preparations of lead and mercury 
which made her complexion most unnaturally white. 
He thinks to coax me from all temptations to resort 
to cosmetics by assuring me that I am as fair as a 
blush-rose. Still, on occasions, I should like well 
to see how I would appear in the garb of a white 
rose. However, to-night I will apply naught but 
the court-plaster, and trust for other ornamentation 
to Mother Nature. 

The above was writ shortly before dinner. Now 
it is ten o’clock, and I have something to add that 
makes the foregoing appear like a prophecy. 

I have met the Reverend Mr. John Wesley. He 
dined with us this evening. • 


40 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


He has such an angelic, and, withal, severe and 
learned countenance, that it was as if all my wits 
were suspended and I was a lowly spirit kneeling 
at his feet whenever he spoke. He is not tall — like 
father, who is a big, imposing man, fit for the figure- 
head of a ship-of-war; neither is he a very small 
man. He is so exceedingly well-proportioned that 
I forgot to pick him so minutely to pieces as I do 
most men. He was more like what I have fancied the 
angel is who will open the great Book at the last day, 
than any one I have ever seen ; and he looked, also, 
strangely young and very venerable at the same 
time. His skin is as fine and soft and smooth as an 
infant’s, and his snowy hair, parted on either side of 
his face and falling in slightly curling locks to his 
shoulders, gives him an aspect of great benignity. 
His eyes are gentle and searching, but his nose and 
mouth impart to his countenance a commanding 
dignity which frightened me in spite of myself until 
he spoke, when his manner was so suave, so court- 
eous, and so truly elegant, that I felt twice the rev- 
erence and ease that I did when I met the Bishop 
of Peterborough. 

Father helped him off with a long outer garment 
trimmed with fur. When this was removed, I .saw 


MR. JOHN WESLEY. 


41 


that he was very spare and in the garb of a minister 
of our dear Church. And yet it is he who heads this 
strange body of zealots who, my peaceable mother 
says, do much good, but also much harm. 

Mother treated him with great consideration, and 
father with that quiet and attentive respect which 
I have observed he ever assumes when he is enter- 
taining dignitaries. 

Mr. Wesley talked of the respective merits of the 
rival artists, dear Sir Joshua, Gainsborough and 
Romney ; for it seems that the last named has been 
painting his portrait. 

Father said that it was to be regretted that Rom- 
ney had not sought admission to the Royal Acad- 
emy, of which Sir Joshua Reynolds has been pres- 
ident ever since its foundation, for it certainly would 
advantage any painter to come in contact with the 
greatest living English artist. 

Mr. Wesley bowed and remarked that Romney 
was shy and proud. 

Mother said that she had understood Sir Joshua 
considered the younger artist as a competitor, and 
would brook no rival, although she herself could 
npi think it true. 

Father, who is Sir Joshua’s ^taoch friend, frowned 


42 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


slightly, and said that jealousy formed no part of 
that amiable artist’s disposition. 

Mr. Wesley’s face lighted radiantly when father 
spoke thus, and then he added, “ I myself heard 
Romney say that ^ Sir Joshua Reynolds is the great- 
est painter that ever lived. I see in his pictures an 
exquisite charm which I see in nature, but in no 
other pictures.’ ” 

This pleased father so much that he then took 
great pains to enlarge on the merits of Romney, and 
finally, when we left the table, as Mr. Wesley did 
not desire to linger for wine, and father is himself 
abstaining at present, we all went together to 
the Art-Gallery, where we already have a notable 
collection of paintings, to view father’s finished 
portrait. 

It was mother herself who held with some effort 
a candelabrum so that the light should touch it just 
right. I observed Mr. Wesley’s face soften into in- 
expressible sadness and sweetness as he glanced for 
a second from the picture to my beautiful and gen- 
tle mother. He pronounced the portrait a speaking 
likeness. 

Is it not ! ” exclaimed mother, with a delighted 
tremble in her voice which when I hear gives*me. 


MR. JOHN WESLEY. 


43 


I know not why, a heartache ; and I observe father 
looks at her as a lover might whenever her voice is 
tremulous because of him. Indeed, father and 
mother are lovers. What would they do without 
each other ? I believe that what attracted me to 
Lord Carew is a distant resemblance I fancied he 
bore to father. O, what a wild dash of rain against 
my windows ! I wonder if the sea is rough — and 
where James Keble is to-night! But I must finish 
about Mr. Wesley. 

When we went back to the drawing-room, or very 
soon thereafter, he turned to mother with a grave 
bow and asked her if it were her pleasure to have 
prayers before he left. 

Mother is the best bred lady I think I have ever 
seen, but she could not conceal a slight surprise in 
her blue eyes as she said: “Why, thank you, Mr. 
Wesley, yes.” She commanded me to bring the 
prayer-book, which I did. We all knelt, repeating 
the usual prayers and making the responses with 
much solemnity; and then, before saying the bene- 
diction, Mr. Wesley, to my surprise, offered a petition 
of his own composing. Such a melting invocation 
my ears have never heard. It suspended my thoughts 
so between heaven and earth that I felt it would be 


44 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


beautiful to die and meet the Lord Jesus Christ 
while I was in such a frame of mind. The tears 
rained from my eyes, and I fear they have left per- 
manent stains on my new silk bodice; but I do not 
care. I have now discovered what is meant by the 
luxury of tears. 

When he had gone, father said : “ He who has left 
us will, I truly believe, be called the greatest man of 
this century. He has by nature the winning deport- 
ment and benignancy which no Jesuit ever possessed 
in so consummate a degree by art. He is as great 
a statesman as critic. He is also a saint, and his 
followers are increasing by thousands.*’ 

Mother looked thoughtful. After we had sat 
in silence for a little time we separated more affec- 
tionately than usual. Father held us both pressed 
to either side for a second before he kissed me good- 
night. 


/ GO TO COURT. 


45 


CHAPTER V. 

I Go to Court. 

^Tj^ATHER appeared so very tired last night that, 
although I had it on the tip of my tongue 
all day long to ask him if he would take me to the 
next drawing-room of Queen Charlotte, I refrained 
out of pity. There are lines in his face and a white- 
ness that I do not like — so different from his usual 
ruddy look! But he says he is well. Yet once, 
just after he said so, I noticed that he clapped his 
hand against his heart, as if a sudden pain had 
smote him. 

Well, while mother and I were trying to join him 
after our late dinner in his usual supper of biscuits 
and toast and water, he looked up at me and asked, 

“ Cicely, my dear, what do you say to being pre- 
sented this day week ? ” 

I ran and threw my arms around his neck, 
crying, “ Do you mean it, truly ! and so soon, fa- 
ther ? ” And then I kissed him two or three times ; 
for, although I love father, of course, so deeply. 


46 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


yet I know he is fonder of my kisses than I of giv- 
ing them. 

He was so pleased, and said, “ Next Wednesday • 
it is to be, then, daughter. You and mother must 
wear the bravest court-dresses there. It will be a 
crowded drawing room, and I want you to go, not 
only because it will be the proper thing, and be- 
cause you should get into the very whirl of society, 
so to speak, through an introduction to good King 
George and Queen Charlotte, but because you will 
stand a chance of meeting many notables who will 
take pains to be present by reason of the late nar- 
row escape his majesty had from death.” 

Father then related how the king, in getting out 
of his carriage at St. James, was accosted piteously 
by a poor woman. 

He listened kindly as she presented a petition to 
him with her right hand. It had the usual super- 
scription, “ For the king’s most excellent majesty.” 

When his majesty bent forward to take it the 
wicked creature drew from it with her left hand a 
dagger, which she aimed at his heart. It was so 
awkward a thing to take the knife with her left 
hand that the king, immediately perceiving her in- 
tention, started back. Although the woman made 


/ GO TO COURT. 


47 


a second thrust the knife had but touched his waist- 
coat when one of the attendants wrenched it from her. 

There has been great rejoicing in London and 
throughout the country that our king is saved ; for, 
though he is dull, and stubborn, and conceited, he is 
so good a husband and father, and the Prince of 
Wales is so far otherwise, that England feels that 
she has escaped a horrible calamity. 

And then the king showed so much lenity in 
saving the assassin from the will of the mob till her 
case could be inquired into, that afterward, when 
it was known that she was insane, his wise modera- 
tion received great praise. 

So I have found myself praying with tears in my 
eyes for King George, although I never knew be- 
fore that I had an iota of regard for his majesty. 

Father is a most comfortable man in society, for 
he knows exactly how to obtain all he desires 
without in any way appearing rude. With him for 
my escort I know that I shall meet all the notables 
worth seeing; and besides, when he is with me, I 
carry myself with a certain assurance I never feel 
at other times; I feel it, but I cannot act it, for few 
know who I am ; but it seems to me that all Lon- 
don must know who father is. 

4 


48 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


It is now a week since my presentation, but that 
day will ever remain so vividly in my memory that 
it seems to me I could describe the queen and all 
that was said and done in my presence a hundred 
years hence, if I only had the good fortune to live 
till then. Father says that he often has patients 
who beg him to let them die and have done with 
this weary world. Such longings are Greek to me. 
I am happy all the day long, and the few crying 
times I have had seem always to prelude some 
special joy. I believe, if I so will it, it may go on 
thus forever. I hate people who are not cheerful, 
and I consider them very sinful. 

At the drawing-room, certainly, all were smiles 
and compliments, and in gay costumes and court 
manners, albeit the king and queen are so domestic. 
But though they are simple in their tastes they are 
very formal, and so court ceremonies are ever con- 
ducted with due stiffness. The state of the House 
of Hanover, I ween, is very different from the glad 
and splendid ceremonial of the Tudors and the 
Stuarts. 

But now, lest I should never see her again, I 
must write my say about Queen Charlotte. 

She is no beauty, and she has no presence ; but 


/ GO TO COURT 


49 


Mistress Frances Burney told mother that she is 
full of sense and graciousness, and has delicacy of 
mind and loveliness of temper. Mother soon after 
took occasion to remind me of these vaunted traits 
by telling me to imitate the queen. 

When I saw her, however, although she smiled 
on me with much sweetness as I kissed her hand, I 
courtesied rather to my ideal of queens than to the 
one who stood in front of me. 

King George was not by her side ; he is said 
never to stand in one spot long, but walks about 
and speaks to whomsoever he wishes. 

It was the Duchess of Hamilton who presented 
me to her majesty, and, although my eyes were 
properly cast down, I could not be unmindful of my 
own fairness or of Queen Charlotte’s paleness and 
thinness. She looks so German, for her forehead is 
low, the hair rising from it in natural scallops and 
combed high over a cushion, and this huge mass is 
topped still further by a row of puffs. Her eyes are 
full and her eyebrows heavy; her nostrils flare and 
give her a plebeian aspect. For my part, I would 
prefer the dominating nose of Queen Bess. 

She has high cheek-bones, too, but good teeth, 
and her German plainness was offset by a ravishing 


'50 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 

dress that made me despair. The front of her robe 
was all of white and silver, while from her shoulders 
depended a vast mantle of violet-colored velvet 
lined with ermine. This splendid train was fastened 
on one shoulder by a bunch of pearls, but it was so 
heavy that it fell half way down her waist. Still I 
would gladly have supported its awkward weight 
for the sake of owning such a gorgeous costume. 
The top of her head sparkled with a tiara of dia- 
monds. Her long throat was clasped by a diamond 
necklace, and she wore a diamond stomacher worth 
sixty thousand pounds. 

While I stood thinking of the beauty of a queen’s 
wardrobe there stole into my mind a verse on which 
I had read some reflections by Jeremy Taylor — some- 
thing about the lilies, how they neither toil nor 
spin, and yet surpass Solomon in all his glory. 

The young Duke of Portland broke in upon my 
thought with asking me how I liked her majesty. 

“ O,” I replied, at a loss for a second for an an- 
swer, he looked so tall and grand, in his curling 
powdered wig, “ her manners surely have an easy 
dignity which much surprised me, as I have some- 
way felt that imported royalty must be as plain as 
was Anne of Cleves.” .. . 


/ GO TO COURT. 


51 


“ She certainly has a fine, high breeding,” the 
duke replied ; “ and the court at present, my mother 
says, is a vast improvement upon the irregular one 
of King George II. But I hope, with more age, 
that the bloom of her majesty’s ugliness will wear 
off a little.” 

I was shocked at his light way of speaking, under 
the very roof of St. James, of the queen. I said 
naught, as just then I perceived my Lord Carew 
approaching, and looking so brave that I should 
have been the most miserable of all animals if he 
had not driven even the queen from my mind. 

We were mighty facetious together, and when I 
found that he smiled the more admiringly the 
sprightliep I became. I grew more and more ex- 
cited, till it seemed as if we had got to flirtation 
before we were aware. 

But shortly my father drew near, for he had fort- 
unately left me a few minutes, or so much that was 
delightful could not have happened. He speedily 
took me to one side to present me to an antique 
friend of his, who was certainly as grave and muzzy 
an old creature as I have ever met ; at least such 
was my first thought of her, for I was sorely vexed 
at having to leave Lord Carew. 


52 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


But for father’s sake I was as humble and soft as 
though I were in the awful presence of Mistress 
Hervey ; and after a time I found something of 
good sense, intelligence, and archness in this ven- 
erable lady. I was never more glad in all my life 
that I had acted contrary to my inclinations when 
I found out that I had been talking with the famous 
Mistress Hannah More ; for father and she had 
arranged it between them that I should not at first 
know what Miss More I was meeting. The kind 
old lady feared I would be abashed did I realize it 
at first, for in England, especially, the women are 
not yet used to blue-stockings, as are the French. 

“ Is she not a beautiful old lady ? ” asked my 
father; and he bent slightly to hear my response as 
we withdrew after I had made my best courtesy. 
“ Did you notice those delicate, high-bred hands, 
and the combined goodness and intelligence in that 
sensitive face ? ” 

I colored violently as father thus appealed to my 
taste ; for the expressive green-gray eyes of Lord 
Carew had so filled my foolish mind that I could 
tell naught about the appearance of the lady that I 
had met but that she wore a huge, soft, triple ruff 
of finest embroidery and had a sweet smile. I was 


I GO TO COURT. 


53 


so overcome with a sense of my great silliness that I 
could but just venture to ask, Have ^ou any of 
the books, father, that Mistress Hannah More has 
writ ?” 

“Yes, daughter. Perhaps, since you have met 
her at the queen’s drawing-room, you would better 
read first The Influence on Society of the Manners of 
the Great T 

I knew not whether he meant this for a reproof 
or not ; but I answered very meekly, “ If you please, 
father.” 

I saw many other notables at the drawing-room, 
and I hope to go to many more such assemblies, I 
had so delightful a time; but this one already fades 
into the past and grows dim because of the invi- 
tation we have for Dr. Burney's levee, two evenings 
hence, where I am to meet some of the most famous 
stars among the nobility and men of letters, as well 
as to listen to the delectable music one always hears 
at the great musician’s home. 


54 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


CHAPTER VI. 


Martha Tells Me of Count Cagliostro. 


jT^EAR me, dear me! Certainly this year 1783 
is the annus mirabilis of my life. I feel be- 
witched, enchanted, under a spell ! My mind, in 
short, is a medley of all the supernatural happenings 
I have ever read about, heard about, or dreamed of 
with my eyes open, but surely never expected to see. 

And now, behold me on the threshold of what 
may prove a most eventful experience. 

When I closed this chronicle, dear aunt, last 
night, my eyes as full of sleep-seeds as a poppy, 
my brain filled with projects for the good times to 
be had at Dr. Burney’s, and I intending to hop into 
bed as quickly as I could, little did I think of the 
bag of news my maid, Martha, would bring, with 
all due secrecy, into my room. 

I had just plaited my hair myself, and tied the 
bows of one of the bonnie night-caps you sent to 
me under my chin, and was thinking it more be- 
coming than my lofty hat all in a tremble with the 


COUNT CAGLIOSTRO. 


55 


pile of feathers, the tip of the fashion now, when 
Martha knocked, and walked in with a face as white 
as a sheet, and about to cry as she asked me to ex- 
cuse her lateness. 

I stood stock still with astonishment, forgetting 
the reproof I had meant to give her most sternly, 
and exclaimed : “ What on earth is the matter, 
Martha ? Are you ill ? ” 

“No, ma’am,” said Martha, her chin quivering; 
“ but I am that scared. Mistress Cicely ; ” and then 
she wept violently. 

I sat down on the edge of the bed, tucking my 
feet under the covers a wee bit, for the fire had gone 
out and the chamber was getting chilly, and then and 
there, as soon as Martha could stop crying, she told 
me such a tale as I never expect to hear again. 

My teeth chattered with wonder more than cold. 
It was long after midnight when I dismissed Mar- 
tha and then lay quaking and dreaming till dawn 
because of her marvelous story. 

I have always found Martha truthful and reliable, 
and so I am more inclined to believe her than I 
might, although I would never dream of informing 
father of what I have heard, because of his strong 
prejudices against the supernatural. 


$6 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


I think mother, however, rather believes in ghosts, 
for whenever I have asked her about them she has 
said, Stop thinking of such things, Cicely. What 
harm could a poor ghost do you 1 ” 

So I am sure she has either seen one or heard 
tell of them from most trustworthy sources. 

Well, Martha’^s story was not a ghost story, and 
yet it was. 

My maid has an aunt living in Whitcombe Street. 
This aunt is a masoness, and her uncle is a mason. 

Martha says that when she stepped into their 
little parlor, which opens right off the street, she 
was confused out of her senses by seeing the cur- 
tains drawn and the candles lighted, though it was 
still early, and the fog much less than usual. In the 
middle of the room, seated on the best chair, was 
the handsomest and most elegant personage she 
had ever laid eyes on in her life. 

“ Miss Cicely,” she said, what you told me of 
Queen Charlotte when you went to court was just 
nothing at all compared with what I see.” 

“ Have out with what you saw, Martha,” I cried, 
impatiently. “ For the watchman has just called 
eleven, and the good part of London is already 
asleep.” 


COUNT CAGLIOSTRO, 


57 


Well, Mistress Cicely — ” and then she gasped — 

“ Go on ! ” I cried. 

“ It was Count Cagliostro I see, ma’am ! ” she 
said, in triumph. 

“Well, who is he, and how did he look?” I re- 
torted. 

“ He is the greatest and the oldest and the 
wisest man in the world,” said Martha. “He is one 
hundred and fifty years old, and his wife, Felicita, 
who looks as young as you, Mistress Cicely, is sixty. 
He has discovered the secret of perpetual youth.” 

I was so full of wonder that, clasping my arms 
around my knees to draw myself into a bunch and 
keep warmer, I begged her to tell me all she knew. 

So, poking up the fire, and laying on a fresh stick 
or two, she told the following tale, which I shall 
put into my own words : 

He has a dark, very dusky skin, but a look of 
perfect health, features as handsome as those of the 
finest statues in Westminster, and such teeth, and 
two such eyes I There is sometliing sinister-look- 
ing about him withal. His voice and manners have 
such facility of expression that it seems as if he 
must have lived a thousand years. 

He wore a blue silk coat trimmed with silver lace 


58 CICELY'S CHOICE. 

which ran down all the seams likewise, and an em- 
broidered shirt of which the collar was thrown back, 
showing a thick, strong throat. He wore his hair 
in a long plait and tied with a blue ribbon. His 
stockings were speckled and clocked, and made of 
silk, and his velvet shoes had diamond buckles. 
He sparkled with diamonds every-where. His hat, 
ornamented with the finest ostrich plumes, lay on 
a table, while over his chair hung a long fur pelisse 
made of blue fox, Martha’s aunt says (but I don’t 
believe it, for father said he could not afford even 
me furs of blue fox). 

While Martha was staring at him with such won- 
der that she forgot to courtesy, the door to her aunt’s 
staircase opened, and in walked the Countess Cag- 
liostro. She had on a rose-colored silk, many dia- 
monds, and her hat also was trimmed with white 
feathers. The countess saw Martha at once. 

My maid’s knees knocked together with fear or 
awe, she did not know which. As far as she could 
think at all, she judged that some untold honor had 
come to her uncle and aunt, or that she was in the 
midst of a splendid vision that would disappear as 
soon as she had waked up, or that she was in the 
very presence of those famed astrologers that the 


COUNT CAGLIOSTRO. 


59 


law has been trying to banish out of London. She 
made her best courtesy finally, whereupon the 
countess smiled sweetly, and asked her uncle was 
she a masoness, too, like her aunt. 

Her aunt told her afterward that this grand man 
is being received with the greatest honor by the 
chief masons of London, and that among his fol- 
lowers are many titled people who are as yet un- 
willing openly to confess their loyalty. The count 
smiles over this, as time to him is of no account, 
and meanwhile he has lodgings with Martha’s aunt 
in Whitcombe Street. 

I asked Martha if she saw any of the means by 
which Count Cagliostro performed his arts, and she 
said yes, that her aunt had admitted her to a closet 
very stealthily where there was a whole row of 
bottles on a shelf, labeled, “Beauty waters,” “Wines 
of Egypt,” and many other curious names which 
she has forgotten. Martha’s aunt says that the full 
treatment required by Count Cagliostro, by which a 
person is made young forever, takes a forty-days* 
course of medicine. One must undergo all kinds 
of sweating-baths and fainting-fits, and be starved 
well-nigh to death, so as to get near the spirit 
world while still in the body. The name by which 


6o 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


Count Cagliostro is known to his devoted followers 
is the Grand Cophta. 

Whether I spell this name right or not I do not 
know ; but this is the way it is on Martha’s slip of 
paper, which her aunt told her to hold, as that 
name written brought good luck if one believed in 
it as one wrote it — and I am sure I do — and in many 
other things which would-be wise people laugh at, I 
know ! just to conceal their limited understandings. 

I found a quaint and very rare old book in father’s 
library, titled, On the Black Art. There are an- 
nouncements in it that ring in my memory o’ nights 
most tormentingly if any thing frightens me. Do 
you not think that there must be some truth in 
such advertisements as these? For who could have 
the audacity to tell such lies out of the whole cloth 
but the very prince of liars himself? I add two 
of these thrilling statements, writ from my memory, 
where they cling with strange tenacity, as if they 
would call my attention more closely to Martha’s 
new acquaintance. This is the first : 

“ A person who by his travels in many remote 
parts of the world has obtained the art of presaging 
or foretelling all remarkable things that ever shall 
happen to men or- women in the whole course of 


COUNT CAGLIOSTRO. 


6i 


their lives, to the great admiration of all that ever 
came to him ; and this he does by a method never 
yet practiced in England.” 

Here is the second : 

“ Noble or ignoble, you may be foretold anything 
that may happen to your elementary life— as at 
what time you may expect prosperity, or, if in ad- 
versity, the end thereof; or when you maybe so 
happy as to enjoy the thing desired. Also young 
men may foresee their fortunes as in a glass, and 
pretty maids their husbands, in this noble, yea, 
heavenly art of astrologie.” 

How I wish I could see my life from beginning 
to end ! I am sure that then I should always pre- 
serve a calm and even demeanor, and be quite ready, 
when death came, to leave this world with decent 
composure. But, O how happy I should be if 
Count Cagliostro could make dear father look ruddy 
once more, and teach him and mother and me the 
blessed art of always staying young, and living in 
our beautiful new home forever! 

I will not send this account to you till I can 
add the conclusion of what you will observe is 
only half of what I shall have to say on this inter- 
esting theme. 


62 


' CICELY'S CHOICE, 


CHAPTER VII. 


The Count Reveals My Fortune. 

Cb± 

f HAVE a guilty conscience, and yet — a strange 
contradiction of spirit — I would not undo what 
I have done, though my heart is filled with a secret 
pain, half fear, half remorse. I find it difficult to 
look at father without the color mounting to my 
face, and I refrained through a wicked excuse from 
kissing dear mother good-night, last evening, lest 
that very kiss might constrain me to unburden my 
heart. 

I took Martha and went to see Count Cagliostro. 
There it is, down in black and white ! And here 
it is midnight, and I am writing to keep from trem- 
bling because of the memory of what I witnessed. 
I quake so, notwithstanding, that I fear I shall spoil 
my new escritoire with ink from my shaking pen. I 
have double my usual number of candles lighted, 
but the room looks eerie and as if every thing in -it, 
myself, too, had been transformed. 

Yesterday father was summoned to court to see 


THE COUNT REVEALS MY FORTUNE. 63 


the Princess Elizabeth, and mother seized the op- 
portunity to have his escort to Windsor, where she 
has long wanted to pay a visit. 

So the first time in my life I was left alone with 
the servants, and as mistress-in-chief of the house. 
I used my liberty for this adventure. 

I would I could have had it on another day, for 
surely there is less shame attending disobedience 
when one is much hedged in than when one has 
perfect freedom. But be this as it may, shortly be- 
fore noon, and when the early spring sun was shin- 
ing hotly down upon the streets, I sallied forth with 
Martha, while the butler was in the kitchen with the 
cook, and we were soon out of sight around the cor- 
ner ; thence under the shadow of the park to the south 
of us, and then across and around, up this street and 
down that, until I was well-nigh spent for breath. 
When I would have leaned against a house, for 
weariness, Martha said : We are e’en about there. 
Mistress Cicely. Keep up heart a bit longer.” 

I drew a heavy sigh and plodded on, feeling so 
much like uttering a loud cry of some kind that a 
fitting occasion only was wanting to make me either 
laugh or sob. 

Don’t be frightened, miss,” said Martha, again, 
5 


64 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


with such firmness that I looked straight into her 
black eyes to see what made her so bold, and lo ! 
she was as scared as I. 

But just then we stopped before a low oak door 
with a huge, highly ornamented brass knocker, and 
Martha quietly and desperately raised it before I 
had time to say nay. 

The sound seemed to thunder through my brain, 
and was ringing there still when a small African with a 
hump, and long feet that stood out like half-spread 
fans, unfastened the door, and, beckoning us silently 
within, locked it in a trice. 

I would have fallen for faintness, but Martha, with 
her bold outside, which I much envied, put her arm 
around me and led me forward after the African, 
who had lighted a small lamp to illuminate the dis- 
mal way w'e had to traverse, though we had left a 
glaring sun outside. 

We came, directly, into an immense hall draped 
in palls of crape adown all the walls and over the ceil- 
ing. We walked upon a soft black carpet, through 
whose deep pile gleamed strangely-interwoven 
creatures that looked like wriggling serpents trying 
to escape devouring red flames that bordered the 
entire room. Three ghostly lamps hanging from 


THE COUNT REVEALS MY FORTUNE. 65 


the ceiling sent out an uncanny light like the sinis- 
ter glimmer of a winking eye. In one corner were 
huddled skeletons with shreds of crape twisting in 
and out amid the ribs, and from one skull that 
leaned grinning against the wall hung a black flag 
all of crape. 

In the center of this grim room was another pile 
of bones, all heads, whose eyeless sockets were worse 
than myriad baleful eyes to me. On either side 
of this vast heap, formed like an altar, was a pile of 
cabalistic books. 

While we stood there — for the African had told us 
that we were to do so — there glided through a door 
opening out of the crapy wall a tall being in a 
black domino and a trailing black robe, who walked 
straight to the altar. He picked up one of the 
books and began to read in a low and solemn chant 
menaces against perjurers and those who offended 
the ma/esty of a present but invisible spirit. Other 
phantom forms then suddenly appeared trailing long 
shadowy veils, and one by one, without audible noise, 
they sank in different spots through the black carpet 
while still the reading went on. A fetid odor, most 
horrible, filled the room. 

It seemed centuries that Martha and I stood 


66 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


there, though, doubtless, it was only minutes. A 
cold sweat bathed me from head to foot. I tried 
to scream, to speak, but I could not. My throat 
closed together. While I thought I should suffo- 
cate, two men came out from behind the sable 
walls, and holding in their hands pale yellow rib- 
bons tinged along the edges with red. One man 
bound his ribbon around Martha’s head while the 
other, dipping his into a vessel filled with liquor 
the color of blood, wrung it out, and enswathed my 
temples. 

My heart thundered like a great mill. As I felt 
the cold bandage on my forehead a blinding light 
smote my eyes. I fell in a deathly swoon. But I 
came out of it to find myself in a bright, gay room 
lighted from the ceiling, and Martha bending over 
me, wringing her hands and begging me piteously 
to forgive her. As soon as I had collected my 
senses, though I was ill to my very heart with fear, 
I whispered, “ Martha, have the fortunes been 
told ? ” 

She answered, “ No.” 

“ Then they must be told,” I cried, with deter- 
mination, “ for we came for our fortunes, and it would 
be folly to go home without them.” 


THE CO UNT RE VEALS M V FOR TUNE, 67 


“ But, mistress,” said Martha, clasping her 
hands, “it is late, and Dr. and Mrs. Hunter will 
reach home, and you will not be there to receive 
them.” 

Just at this minute the famous count entered with 
a bottle of the purest water in his hand. He ap- 
proached me with a smile, bidding me look in the 
bottle and behold unrolled in the water a series of 
minute pictures, but wonderfully clear and distinct, 
with writing beneath them in the finest script. 

Lo ! the pictures were my life passing before me. 
They answered the echoes of my fondest ambition : 
revealing me two short years hence as a duchess, 
and ten years hence mistress of one of the greatest 
estates in Devonshire. Father was in the foreground, 
hale and ruddy, his hair but a trifle grayer than 
now ; mother was leaning on his arm radiant with 
happiness. 

I was entranced. I could have looked forever. 
But the pictures stopped suddenly. The count, 
though, assured me that he had the power, because 
of his miraculous age, to tell me that my life in the 
natural order of events would cover a long space, and 
that but little was required to endue my loved ones 
and me with immortality. 


68 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


Then he asked me who I was, and I answered, 
though pondering why his divination could not tell 
him, that I was Miss Cicely Millicent Hunter, daugh- 
ter of Dr. Hunter, Physician Extraordinary to Her 
Majesty, the Queen. 

The count bowed gravely. 

I asked him my debt, and he replied, “ Naught, 
madam, but your name on the long list of notables 
whose destinies I have foretold.” 

I cried out in a fright that my father might be 
displeased, and he said: “Impossible!” with so 
majestic a wave of his beautiful hand that I was 
silenced but not convinced. 

Martha then begging me to go home, I did so 
regretfully, and, thanks to our lucky stars (I know 
not why, but astrological terms have always come 
most naturally to me), we were back a ggod half 
hour before my parents returned. When they came, 
-father was tired to sickness, and mother so anxious 
in consequence, that they did not notice the excite- 
ment I felt, and which I feared would betray me be- 
fore I was aware. 

While Martha was combing out my hair that 
night I said to her; “ Martha, I know not why, but 
Count Cagliostro impresses me with such full confi- 


THE CO UN T RE VEALS M Y FOR TUNE. 69 


dence that I believ^e all that he said, as much as 
though it had been writ in the Bible.” 

“ Well you may, Mistress Cicely,” she answered ; 
“for I know a score of persons whose fortunes have 
come true already. But I do not like it that the 
count has your name. If your father should know 
we had visited the astrologer I would be dismissed 
from his service and disgraced forever.” 

“ Martha,” I said, with solemn triumph, “ father 
may not know till after some of this splendid fort- 
une comes true, and then how can he say nay, in 
spite of his science ? I am not afraid of father, for 
I am his only daughter, and his anger toward me 
has ever been that of a dying spark.” 

“ Martha,” I added, as she fell a-weeping for her- 
self, “ if ill-luck should come to you through my 
good fortune I will support you like a lady as soon 
as I become a duchess.” 

I felt weak still from the swoon and the great 
excitement of the afternoon ; so I bade the fright- 
ened girl go to bed, little thinking how unearthly 
every thing would become around me while telling 
you this strange story late at night. 

I am sitting propped up by pillows in my swan’s 
nest, my desk drawn up close beside me. My 


70 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


candles are already beginning to burn frightfully 
low. 

But I await with confidence the coming great 
events. Knowing now that my dear father will 
grow strong again, I can easily hazard his passing 
displeasure. 

There, one candle has burnt out ! The room 
looks ghostly ! 


A MUSICAL, 


71 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A Musical. 

^ AWOKE this morning with a dull pain in my 
head. My eyes feel as Mrs. Betsey Killigrew’s 
look. She is far gone with the dropsy. I got up 
right early, for my yesterday’s adventure inspired 
me, except when I was in mother’s presence and 
she kissed me, calling me her darling. 

I would fain have lifted my eyes to hers, but could 
not because of such a heavy, sudden feeling of 
shame. I have heard fearful tales of the Jesuits, 
especially of their power to look like angels when 
they are telling most bold-faced and wicked lies. 
When mother said, “ How sweet and fresh you 
look, daughter,” and I made a great effort and 
smiled in her dear face, I thought I was fast be- 
coming like one of those same wicked Jesuits. 

I hastened away from her, saying I would find 
father, and right off the picture of Cain fleeing from 
the sight of man afflicted me so that I did not look 
ahead of me as I approached father’s library, and 
thus ran right into his arms. 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


72 

The jar knocked the tears over my eyelids, for my 
eyes were brimful. 

Father cried, “Are you hurt, dear?” and kissed 
me and turned my face up to his. 

“ Only frightened,” I said, and then I thought of 
the father of lies, for I was not scared except by 
my pursuing conscience. 

Well, one can get used to a restless, accusing 
heart, as well as aught else ; before breakfast was 
past I was as merry of speech, and felt so, too, after 
a manner, that I was just as if I had never seen 
Count Cagliostro. History tells us that the begin- 
nings of most great things have been in secret, and 
so, perhaps, father and mother will realize one 
of these days that my curiosity in occult matters 
was a true inspiration. 

The day passed slowly, though I took a nap just 
before dinner. 

When the evening was setting in I was glad 
enough to begin to dress for Dr. Burney’s party. 
Well it was for me that I did not show how tired I 
was, except for a paleness which was made greater 
by the high color in my cheeks. 

“ It is vastly becoming to you, miss, to look pale,” 
said Martha. “ You make me think of the white 


A MUSICAL. 


73 


and pink crocuses a-blooming together in the 
spring.” 

After Martha had curled and craped my hair, and 
dressed it over the high puff now come into fashion, 
she got out my new gown of Chambery gauze, 
which is pale blue, and we were having a regular 
confabulation whether I should or should not wear 
pearls with it, when mother entered and put me 
into a great embarrassment by saying, “ So earnest 
about jewels. Cicely?” and then she added with a 
half smile, “ Consider the lilies of the field.” 

It ended in my wearing no jewels. I am afraid 
that I would have felt chagrined if things that Sir 
Joshua Reynolds has been kind enough to tell me 
about beauty unadorned adorned the most had 
not led me, before mother came to my room, to 
fimcy that my neck and arms showed to better ad- 
vantage devoid of either necklace or bracelets. 

O dear! I realize that I am what Jeremy Taylor 
calls carnally-minded. Why will that book on Holy 
Living haunt me? Its arguments, surely, are too 
weighty for me to understand. Perhaps it is the 
music of the language, which I love to read aloud, 
that makes the words, even the thoughts, ring 
through my mind like a Sabbath-bell. 


74 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


When we got to Dr. Burney’s house, which is a 
long way off from ours, being in St. Martin’s Street, 
Leicester Fields, the drawing-room was already so 
crowded with dignitaries that it was with difficulty 
I fetched my breath as I put on a cold demeanor 
while standing beside mother to pay my compli- 
ments to Mr. and Mrs. Burney. 

Near them was their son Charles, who has re- 
cently come home from Cambridge, and who is 
said to have a passion for rare and old books, spend- 
ing all his money for them with such ardor that he 
has no envy of other possessions. He is a pleasant, 
scholarly young man, to whom it seems to come 
hard to find any thing to say to a young girl like 
me. So I was obliged to chatter something that 
meant nothing, to which he answered more kindly 
with his eyes than his tongue. Father’s touch on 
my shoulder signaling me to move forward was 
most agreeable. I like the shadow of father’s pres- 
ence when we are in company. Just then a small, 
retiring little lady slipped toward us, and immedi- 
ately father spoke to her with such flattering respect, 
and mother hastened to address her with .so admir- 
ing a gaze, that I whispered, “ Father, who is she ? ” 

He laughed aloud instantly and said, “ My 


A MUSICAL. 


75 


daughter Cicely, Miss Burney, whispers to ask who 
the author of Evelina is.” 

When I knew that I was in the presence of the 
lady whose book our great orator, Burke, sat up all 
night to read, I was dumfounded. She is the talk 
of all London. Even Mr. Sheridan says he is will- 
ing to place upon the stage at Drury Lane any 
play that she will write. And Mr. Boswell, Dr. 
Johnson’s friend, is fairly jealous of Miss Burney 
because Mr. Johnson praises Evelina so highly and 
seeks opportunities to be in Miss Burney’s society. 
She is in all the best society every-where, and is 
chaperoned by Mrs. Thrale, a beauty and social 
lionesss as well. Miss Hannah More looks more 
like a great person than the author of Evelina., who 
has a demure, laughing mouth, and a kind eye that 
searches you ; at least it did me. I wondered if 
she meant to put me in a book. She told father 
of an interview she had had with the king and 
queen. They certainly showed her extraordinary 
honor. She looks so young, yet she is in reality 
very old to be single. Thirty, or thereabout ! At 
thirty shall I be the Duchess of ? 

Sir Horace Walpole thrust his hand out to Miss 
Burney just as good conversation was really begin- 


76 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


ning. Though I stepped inadvertently on his gouty 
foot I felt only half sorry. I dislike masculine 
spinsters greatly. Sir Horace has such gossiping 
eyes that he saw us turn away, but insisted on say- 
ing to us right in Miss Burney’s hearing, so that I 
blushed for her modesty, of which she is said to 
have much, “ that there is not a cranny left in her 
for affectation.” Her father, however, smiled all 
over his face with the compliment. He is a lively, 
agreeable old man, and so fond of his daughter that 
he is never tired of hearing her praises. Dr. Burney 
is very learned ; a fellow of the Royal Academy, 
an author of a History of Music ^ a fine organist, a 
composer, and altogether so cultivated that there is 
really no household like his for seeing and being 
seen. James Keble is very proud over being re- 
lated to this intellectual family, and Dr. Burney 
makes much of the connection, for he thinks James 
a rising young man. 

I was dying to meet the beautiful Mrs. Sheridan 
and to catch a glimpse of her brilliant husband 
again. I take to them, from what I have heard of 
them, more than to most celebrities, and I think 
Mrs. Sheridan’s history the most romantic that has 
been lived in London, in my short day at least. Sir 


A MUSICAL. 


77 


Joshua showed me her portrait in which he painted 
her as St. Cecilia, and certainly she looks divine. 
I do not believe she is ashamed of having been a 
singer, for who would be who could have had lov- 
ers and compliments showered upon her as she has 
had? It suits my idea exactly that Mr. Sheridan 
will not let her sing for the public now that she is 
married. He shows a manly pride. 

I did see her at last, and looking like a girl. I 
did not wonder that Mr. Sheridan’s own brother 
had fallen in love with her, or that Mr. Norris tried 
to sing himself into her affections, or that Sir 
Thomas Clarges was devoted to her, or that an old 
gentleman to whom she engaged herself when she 
was sixteen, and whom she found she could not 
love, broke the engagement for her sake and settled 
;^3,ooo upon her. Count Cagliostro could not fore- 
tell a more romantic fortune than hers. 

I looked to see how she was dressed, for I thought 
that such a noted beauty might give me some 
ideas. 

She wore a black velvet bodice, above which came 
a handkerchief of finest tulle slightly parted at 
the throat. Her fine hair was powdered and 
arranged in loose curls puffing back from her fore- 


78 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


head, and her whole expression was sweet and at- 
tractive — quite a contrast to the great Mrs. Siddons, 
who chanced to be standing a little back of her; for 
Mrs. Siddons has the grand air which an imposing 
figure gives. While I glanced at her I heard her 
speak, and, though her voice is clear and good, it 
is most tragic, and would scare me out o’ my wits 
on a dark night. ’Tis said she addresses her man- 
tua-maker as Lady Macbeth might the king. 
Nevertheless she is as modest and sensible as she is 
great, and, though much run after, declines great 
dinners ; for she is devoted to her family, and all 
her life in public is solely for their sake. 

But the evening was going, and I had not met 
Mr. Sheridan, and I had looked in vain to spy Lord 
Carew come in ; for I had managed to let him know 
that I should be at Dr. Burney’s, and I had caught 
my breath once or twice, thinking I beheld James 
Keble, whom I want to see and do not want to see ; 
and I had craned my neck every time a bit of music 
sounded to find out whether it could be made by 
Mr. Charles Wesley, who is a nephew of the great 
divine who dined with father not long ago. 

At this juncture dear mother complained that she 
had got a headache. Father was for ordering the 


' A MUSICAL. 


79 


coach right away to take us home, when who should 
plant himself right in front of us but Mr. Sheridan, 
who, from being thought poor and famous, sud- 
denly posed before London as rich and famous, and 
with enough mystery about it to make the glamour 
of his name deeper than ever! He is a wonderful 
man to look at, a more wonderful man to hear, 
and, it is said, so delightful in his home that his 
parties have more jollity, though less dignity, than 
Dr. Burney’s. 

I am very well satisfied with Dr. Burney’s, though 
I would like to be invited to Mr. Sheridan’s. Just 
to look at the great wit’s chin, cleft in twain by a 
merry dimple, and to see the arch of his brows and 
the fire and softness of his eye would let you know 
that you were talking to a genius. Father says that 
this writer comes fairly by his gifts, for his mother 
was a most clever woman and his father and grand- 
father were men of much intellectual ability. But 
father laid great stress on his mother’s smartness, 
and I have heard him say time and again that no 
man ever rose to eminence in religion, letters, or poli- 
tics who did not owe his power to a superior mother. 
He says that silly girls and silly women set the world 

back in its progress more than aught else. 

6 


8o 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


Mr. Sheridan is called such a procrastinator. 1 
looked in his face for a sign of it. I saw none. I 
suppose 1 am still too young to have faces tell me 
much of what lies below the surface. I certainly 
like Mr. Sheridan’s, and find it hard to believe the 
story that two days before “ The Critic ” was to be 
played he had not finished composing the last scene. 
Lord Carew told me that Mr. Sheridan’s father-in- 
law invited him to dinner, and then, while the meal 
was preparing, proposed a saunter to Drury Lane. 
Then the stage manager requested a private audi- 
ence with the writer, and then, when Mr. King had 
got him in a room alone, turned a key on him, and 
Mr. Linley shouted through the door to him that 
he could not come out till his farce was finished. 

I observed that father spoke with as much se- 
dateness and reserve to Mr. Sheridan as if he were 
the pope addressing a heretic. Father likes few 
people who seek to do common things in an un- 
common way, and, though he would be the last to 
decry Mr. Sheridan’s great parts, he says that the 
successor of Garrick has shot up like a rocket and 
will fall in the same way. 

As I turned to glance down the room, which was 
getting packed fuller and fuller with people, all 


A MUSICAL, 


8i 


laughing and talking and bowing, and the spinet, 
harp, and violin thrumming threads of the choicest 
music through the confusion, my eye caught a bit 
of pink through a long straight crack made from 
one end of the room to the other, through the 
company, and then across that crack, as if it had 
yawned on purpose, James Keble wedged himself, 
and I saw that he had on a pink evening-coat ; and 
very gay and brave he looked, though arrived in 
port but a few hours ago. He did not disturb my 
peace of mind enough to prevent me from saying 
to myself with much scorn, “ Cicely Keble, indeed ! ” 

And then he walked straight down that crack, 
his eye fixed on mine in a masterful way that 
fidgeted and vexed me. 

P'ather moved, fixing me like a vise, and as 
mother was all eyes for Mr. Sheridan, there I was, 
most cruelly and desperately glued to the spot, and 
still James Keble coming forward. 

He is, without gainsaying, a dangerously hand- 
some young man. If I could be sure that his 
success in life would equal his ambition — for he sets 
his stake nothing short of the admiralty — why! 

He held out his hand with a warm yet haughty 
assurance of welcome ; so I took it a trifle carelessly 


82 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


and let it go with as much indifference as Miss 
Lydia Languish. 

He asked me to allow him to escort me near the 
musicians, as his friend, Mr. Charles Wesley, was in 
that corner. 

Mother, of course, had ears for this politeness, 
although she seemed so absorbed in Mr. Sheridan ; 
for she turned and said, with so much approval in 
her tone, “Yes, go, my dear, by all means,” that I 
had naught else to do but acquiesce. 

Mr. Keble walked off with me on his arm with 
such an air as if he owned me that I hugged the 
thought of disappointing him ; but he did make a 
way for us so smoothly, and all the time keeping 
the crowd from pulling on my Chambery gauze, 
that I must concede him to be a most comfortable 
companion for such an occasion. 

He looked down at me with much pleased assur- 
ance, yet gentleness, once. His light hazel eyes 
have a depth in them like the sea. I fancy he 
might be as fierce and ruthless as the ocean, did 
any one anger him. 

When we got to the musicians they were just 
stringing their instruments. The humming sound 
was like the murmur of a great bee-hive. I was at 


A MUSICAL. 


83 


once carried away in spirit to the country, with its 
sweet sights and smells and sounds. 

The next minute my fingers tingled to seize one 
of those violins and play a composition of Bach 
which that composer had done me the honor of 
dedicating to me because of a cure father has 
effected for him. So self-forgetful was I that I 
thrummed on Mr. Keble’s arm. This so amused 
him that he laughed a little. Such teeth as he 
has — strong and white ! His very smile is so con- 
tagious that it provokes merriment. I blushed and 
drew myself up, for I desired him to see that I was 
fast growing into a stately dignity which I believe 
I can have with a little effort and caution, for, 
though I am not tall, I am very straight. 

Mr. Keble looked at me a trifle quizzically, but 
he said nothing for a second. I wished I could 
make his presence repulsive to me ; but I cannot 
yet. 

Presently he pointed out the two brothers, Sam- 
uel and Charles Wesley, sons of the Mr. Charles 
Wesley who writes such beautiful hymns. I 
thought Samuel Wesley the more interesting. He 
is still but a boy, though a marvelous one, as he 
composed an oratorio called “ Ruth ” when he was 


84 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


but eight, and his touch on the spinet is wonderful. 
But Charles Wesley I liked much. He was quite 
as fashionably attired as Mr. Keble. I surmise 
the young men need “consider the lilies” as much 
as mother thinks I do. Mr. Wesley wore a beauti- 
fully-fitting white coat, and a tambour waistcoat 
worked in green silk. Whenever he spoke he 
diffused so much knowledge in his conversation, 
and in so simple and natural a way, that he re- 
minded me of his uncle John. 

Dr. Burney has an organ in his house. Pres- 
ently Charles sat down before it, while Samuel 
went to the spinet, and, at the suggestion of 
Dr. Howard, a very distinguished organist, they 
prepared to sing and accompany a set of songs 
which Mr. Charles had recently composed. 

As Samuel played Dr. Howard whispered to 
me, “ Does not the youth look as though he had 
dropped down from heaven?” 

Suddenly Mr. Keble suggested a violin, as, in his 
opinion, it would add to the pathos and melody. 
He then said, “ Miss Hunter plays the violin with 
much skill.” 

Immediately all the gentlemen turned to me as 
though they had been shot. Mr. Charles Wesley 


A MUSICAL. 


85 


sprang from the organ with more sweetness than I 
could possibly have mastered had I been hearing 
my own talent made public. He handed me a 
curious, quaint violin, that I at once perceived to be 
a treasure, and implored me so gallantly to play 
with them that I could not refuse, and, moreover, 
all the music in me was so awake that it was easier 
to play than to keep still. 

When I had stringed my instrument, and struck a 
few notes just to try its temper, it answered me 
with such a thrill and tremble that I asked myself 
did I have the soul of a disembodied singer in 
my keeping. Certainly that violin said wonderful 
things. 

The Earl of Mornington, who is so fond of 
Mr. Charles Wesley that they breakfast weekly 
together, now begged for an anthem which the 
young musician had composed. It is entitled, 
“ My soul hath patiently tarried.” 

The rich, solemn notes of the combined instru- 
ments must have had a very stilling effect, for as 
we continued it was as if the house had turned 
into a church. My little violin was such a music- 
box that I could have hugged it to my heart, and 
indeed I did a wee bit, till presently I forgot every 


86 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


thing and felt as if floating in a sea of blissful 
sound. When I came out of this heavenly bath and 
glanced up, there stood father, with his arms folded, 
gazing at me with mingled love and pride. The 
great Mrs. Siddons was just in front of me, and 
looked for all the world like a statue of Juno. 
And Mr. Sheridan’s head was to one side, and hq 
staring at me out of his bright Irish eyes as though 
he had never seen me before. But James Keble’s 
eyes transfixed me for a second, for, though he was 
gazing to my right, they wore an uplifted, angry, 
startled expression that made me turn my head to 
behold my Lord Carew bent forward with a flaming, 
ardent stare at me, as if he had sheer forgot himself 
in admiration. 

All this happened quicker than I can write it. 
I suddenly knew that romances were heaping thick 
about me. I had played on a violin, if not at 
Strawberry Hill. And here was I with two lovers ! 

Mr. Wesley came to me while these thoughts 
swept through my mind, and asked, “ How do you 
like my Stradivarius ? ” 

“A Stradivarius! ” I exclaimed, and felt afraid to 
hold the little instrument longer lest something 
should happen to it. 


A MUSICAL, 


87 


“ It spoke like an angel to me, sir,” I replied, 

and no wonder. How good you are to trust me 
with it ! ” 

“ No,” he replied, thoughtfully. I saw that 
you were a true lover of music — yes, an inspired 
one. May I beg a favor of you, which you will 
excuse me for saying would be a compliment to 
gentlemen? Mr. Handel has been composing some 
music for certain hymns my father has writ, and a 
company will meet at our house to practice it. 
Should you be pleased to come, if I addressed 
Dr. Hunter?” 

I colored up to my eyes with surprise and joy, 
and clasped my hands and cried, “O, how de- 
lightful ! ” 

So the long and the short of it is that I am not 
only to go, but sometimes to take a part. Father 
is highly gratified, and mother pleased too, though 
she talks much to me on conceit and humility these 
days. 

I do like Mr. Charles Wesley, Jr., so much. 
I have yet to meet his father. He is such a 
sensible, amiable, frank young man, that I feel 
more at home with him than I do with either 
Lord Carew or Mr. Keble. Although he is very 


88 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


fond of jocoseness in others I notice that he 
seldorn says things himself to make a laugh. If I 
had a brother I should like him to be just like 
Mr. Charles Wesley. 

Well, I have made an uncommonly long story 
of Dr. Burney’s musical party, but, if I paid justice 
to it, I ought to fill a book with it. 

I should be perfectly happy if father and mother 
knew about Count Cagliostro. I hate to keep a 
secret. I never had a real one before. They are 
not as nice as I thought they were. If any thing 
pleasant or unpleasant should come of that strange 
adventure I will let you know. Good night, dear 


aunt. 


CHESTERFIELD STREET, 


89 


CHAPTER IX. 

Chesterfield Street. 

t T is now a week and a day since the party at 
Dr. Burney’s, and in that week not one event 
of importance happened. The unfolding of my 
destiny seems to have stopped all of a sudden. But 
yesterday the wheel o’ fate turned another revolu- 
tion in the shape of my first concert at Mr. Charles 
Wesley’s. 

I went with curious eyes and a curious heart, for 
while I was out in the morning to look at a satin 
bodice and petticoat at the New Exchange, which 
mother kindly said I might order sent to her name 
and charge did I like them, I met no less a person 
than father’s friend, the Reverend John Wesley. 

I was in my sedan chair, attended by a footman, 
for father now makes us daily observe all due state ; 
why I know not, for in the old house he was not 
punctilious to an extreme extent. 

I did overhear him tell mother, however, that 
King George had said right plainly that it was only 


90 


CICEL V’S CHOICE. 


fit that a man so eminently in chirurgery as he 
should be knighted. 

I have been told that when Mrs. Siddons was first 
getting ready to play Lady Macbeth she wore her 
queenly robes for days together, so that she should 
become well used to fancying herself a queen ; per- 
haps father thinks this extra state in our daily life 
becoming, so that should he be My Lord, and dear, 
sweet mother My Lady, they will feel in this respect 
to the manner born. Of course I know not whether 
this imagining be true. Except for the worldly 
advantage of it, I think we are just as good as we 
are. Nevertheless, if I am to be a duchess, it were 
better not to take one tremendous step to exalta- 
tion, but to attain such high rank by degrees. 

Well, it was ten of the clock, and we were just 
passing St. Paul’s, Covent Garden, still a most fash- 
ionable church, though Mr. Keble says it has had 
its day — O, churches are so mammon-loving nowa- 
days it makes me sick ! — when some one slightly 
stooped and peered into the window of my chair. 

Lo, it was the great preacher ! 

It was as if a painting on metal or china were thrust 
in upon me, his face was so remarkably clear and 
distinct, etched against the air like the twigs of 


CHESTERFIELD STREET. 


91 


trees are when the sun has gone down and the sky 
is clear and somber. I wondered could his com- 
plexion vie with mine, which Martha says is perfect. 
He had on his band and cassock, and his long white 
hair, glistening like silver as the sunlight fell athwart 
it, made him look so spirit-like that I could think 
of naught else but the white bloom left of a thistle 
in autumn which the wind may any instant dissipate. 
Never did I see such an old man in my life — so 
majestic, so calm ; and yet a spare man, but well- 
proportioned. Though father is a great big man, 
he, notwithstanding, says ’tis his belief that fine- 
grained men, like fine-grained wood, are oft-times 
weighty with marvelous little bulk. 

He asked me various polite questions about my 
health, and especially father’s, and I noted his eye 
took on a serious cast. He was turning away, 
after praying me to give his duty to my honored 
parents, when he returned to me and inquired smil- 
ingly what time I got up o’ mornings. 

“At eight,” I said, with a rising blush; for I had 
heard strange stories of his abstemious habits. 

“ So late ! ” he replied, with a reproachful smile, 
yet gently. “ Though I have risen at four for above 
fifty years, and have usually preached a sermon at 


92 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


five each morning, yet leisure and I have taken leave 
of one another.” He looked at me thoughtfully, with 
his bright eyes not a whit dimmed by age. Just 
then Count Cagliostro passed behind him and out of 
sight ; but that vision sent the blood back upon my 
heart so forcibly that I must have turned pale, for 
Mr. Wesley said still more gently, “ Be not fright- 
ened at my solemnity, although I would have you 
serious-minded and useful after your talent — or, per- 
chance, ten talents?” 

These last words set me a thinking, and even 
while I was regarding the bodice, which I saw at a 
glance would be vastly becoming, I kept saying to 
myself, “ perchance ten talents ? ” The very idea 
confounded me. 

I had one talent, for my skill in music none 
have ever gainsaid ; but his interpretation of a 
gentlewoman’s usefulness at one minute amazed 
me, and at another struck me as so sensible and 
awe-inspiring that I fell into a perfect maze of 
query and speculation concerning all the talents 
of which I might possibly be compounded. Sure- 
ly,” I said to myself, “ father’s daughter should 
amount to something ! ” But never till that mo- 
ment had I had a thought that it behooved me to 


CHESTERFIELD STREET. 


93 


be aught beside a fine young lady and a good church- 
woman. 

Mr. Wesley’s admonishing — for I could take his 
words no otherwise, gently as they were spoken — 
haunted me like a bad dream. Even while I was 
tuning my violin, toward nightfall, and Martha was 
scalloping a gay bit of red ribbon with which to 
make a bow for my instrument, I kept asking my- 
self, “ For what purpose, really, am I made ? What 
will be the middle and end of my life? Will any 
be benefited by my living?” 

I recognized that all these queries were a jumble 
of Jeremy Taylor, the Catechism, and the Prayer 
Book; but they kept a sounding in my soul mighty 
solemn, and as if they had grown there like a plant 
that suddenly springs up from the soil though no 
one has sown seed. 

Strange to say, busy though he is, father went 
with me to Mr. Wesley’s. 

Chesterfield Street is not so grand a neighborhood 
as ours, but the Wesley house is a large and sub- 
stantial one, and if a house is to be estimated by 
the people it contains this mansion is a notable 
one. 

There were not so many present as at Dr. Bur- 


94 


CICELY* S CHOICE, 


ney’s, but the entertainment was of the choicest, 
and, as music was made a business of by all, we grad- 
ually waxed into a passion of sentiment and enjoy- 
ment that was exceedingly delightful. 

I kept up a searching scrutiny of the Reverend 
Charles Wesley whensoever I could, for he and his 
brother are divided in opinion on the subject of 
chamber concerts. 

The younger brother says that if God bestowed 
on him two such prodigies in musical ability as his 
sons Charles and Samuel, he gave them by this 
same useful gift a clear revelation of , their course of 
life; and that, though they are much noticed by 
the royal family as well as by the highest nobility, 
it behooves them none the less to keep themselves 
unspotted from the world and steadfast in all man- 
ner of sobriety. 

The Wesleys were so jubilant, however, on this, 
my first evening at their house, that 1, happily for 
my good spirits, forgot all the depressing things 
with which Martha had regaled me concerning the 
strange beliefs of people who are of the Church, and 
yet, in the estimation of many, a bitter scandal to 
the Church. Their jubilation was very seemly to 
me, and eminently befitting people of cultivation 


CHESTERFIELD STREET. 


95 


and ambition, for Mr. Charles, junior, has recently 
been made organist of St. Maiylebone. The father 
is curate of St. Mary’s, Islington, which position 
he has held many years, but, as it were, under 
protest. 

I have heard that he was summoned before the 
Archbishop of Canterbury for preaching in churches 
to which he had no canonical appointment, and that 
this was the beginning of his preaching in the fields. 
Yea, his daughter Sarah acknowledged to me, after 
some questioning on my part, that as many as ten 
thousand at a time had hung upon his words at some 
of these out-of-door sermons ; but that her father 
was a man of such tender sensibilities and of a spirit 
so gentle, and withal so stable a churchman, that 
he thought it fitting to even bear persecutions in 
silence for the welfare of the Establishment, and yet 
to follow his own bent with a firm heart when in- 
dorsed by a good conscience. And she told me, 
with tears welling to the very brim of her speaking 
eyes, that his zeal for the poor, the outcast, and the 
sinful, had brought him, time and time again, nigh 
unto martyrdom, simply because these needy ones 
were not of his parish or sermonized within a sanct- 
uary indorsed by the State Church. Over and over 
7 


96 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


has he faced angry mobs until his clothes were torn 
to tatters and the blood ran down his face in streams. 
She says that her uncle John, though so small a 
man, is warlike. But Admiral Nelson is a mighty 
small man, too. Does not his statue adorn West- 
minster Abbey because of his fearless and valorous 
deeds ? It may be that in the years to come the 
saintly faces of these two gifted brothers will add 
to the holy light of good influence ever present in 
the stately Abbey. When I wander through the 
cloisters and chapel and beneath the solemn arches 
of Westminster, reading name upon name of those 
who have been of service to society, religion, or the 
State, I ween no English man or woman could de- 
sire greater honor than to be enrolled among those 
worthies. What a seemly sculpturing in marble it 
would be to represent these two brothers preaching 
to an ardent multitude beneath the cathedral vault 
of the sweet, sunny sky ! 

I saw naught of the fierce courage of the Wesleys, 
of course, the night of the concert, for it would have 
been as much out of place among a company so 
peaceably inclined as would the Duke of Welling- 
ton’s valor at Waterloo in a drawing-room. Yet, silly 
girl that I am, I kept looking for some signal dis- 


CHESTERFIELD STREET. 


97 


play of heroic qualities while the peaceful notes of 
Handel’s Susanna were floating melodiously through 
the rooms. 

The hymnist has a certain abruptness and oddity 
of manner, combined with the sweetest simplicity 
and frankness, that let me know that I was in the 
presence of a man with a vocation. I think he 
showed me a great mark of favor, when I was about 
to leave, by presenting me with a book of his hymns, 
though he did say that his son Charles had requested 
him so to do. The poetry is set to music chiefly 
of his son’s composing. A few of these tunes I 
have tried by myself, and I must say that they are 
deeply pathetic. Some of the effusions ring in my 
mind like a chant. I would I could hear them sung 
at the Lady Margaret Chapel, where we go o’ 
Sundays. 

Although, as I have said, there were not so many 
present as at Dr. Burney’s, still the company was 
as distinguished ; and among the seventy or eighty 
who were there were the Bishop of London, the Dan- 
ish and Saxon ambassadors, the Earl of Mornington, 
of course, a score or more of other nobility, among 
whom were Lord Dudley and Lord Carew, and late 
in the evening James Keble entered with the cele- 


98 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


brated musical composer, Dr. William Boyce, who 
just now is the most fashionable man in all London. 

So soon as it was known he had arrived, at a sig- 
nal from Mr. Wesley, Samuel Wesley, James Keble, 
and I set ourselves to pay him the compliment of 
the evening, which was the rendering of one of his 
trios for two violins and a bass, which are so pop- 
ular that they are played every-where. 

I gave Master Samuel a gentle shove to begin, as 
his eyes were too wandering for attention, and while 
waiting for him to collect himself I thought what 
a pity it would have been had I popped off in my 
illness of last year, and so have missed the delectable 
entertainments of this year ! 

I was provoked a wee bit with Mr. Keble, for he 
looked so caught with my playing that he had eyes 
and ears for naught else. I was the more irritated 
as his own part suffered in consequence, and because 
he is not often successless in playing his role in so- 
ciety with a fine majesty that fits him well. But 
why need I waste my sympathy or my thought on 
him ? 

- Lord Carew was all agreeability as usual, but I 
cannot but observe that this is his universal man- 
ner. To see him a-bending over Sarah Wesley, 


CHESTERFIELD STREET. 


99 


who must be already past twenty, made me fetch 
my breath indignantly. I hate to see a man treat 
all damsels alike, and that alikeness making him 
look, a few rods off, as if he were ardently in love 
at every crook and turn with each pair of bright 
eyes he beholds himself in. Charles Wesley’s cool 
manner is so different. It directly acquaints you 
that he is thinking neither of you nor himself. 
He is wed to music ; that is certain. 

But the pair who interested me most at the con- 
cert were Mr. Frederick William Herschel, private 
astronomer to King George, and his sister Caroline. 
I ached to ask the astronomer a multitude of ques- 
tions, but, despairing of gaining his ear, as he was 
surrounded continually, between the intervals of 
music, I wedged my way to Miss Herschel, think- 
ing, perhaps, that a woman would, after all, have a 
more familiar way of speaking of occult things. 

Miss Herschel’s accomplishments and vicissitudes 
are enough to scare the wits out of a young person ; 
but fear can never thwart my courage. So, though 
I had in mind the eight comets that she has discov- 
ered, and all the tales of midnight watches for stars 
as yet unknown— of the grindings and polishings 
she and her brother had kept up to make proper 


lOO 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


magnifying mirrors, and their manifold privations 
while they were still poor and not famous — I finally 
seized my chance and addressed her, very adroitly, 
by speaking of the extraordinary gifts of Count 
Cagliostro, and asking did she believe in divination 
by the planets. 

She looked down into my face wonderingly, and 
with a near, kind, motherly gaze — not a whit as 
if she had had her eyes turned upward weeks at a 
time, looking into secrets millions of miles away. 
Then she laid her hand on my head, although her 
other hand rested on a cane, for she is at present 
lame, and said, most quietly and forcibly, “ No, my 
child, I do not. Could I have found out, with all 
my years of study of the stars, coming events, I 
would not now be lame.” 

Quite forgetting Count Cagliostro, I begged her 
to tell me of her accident, of which I had already 
heard something. 

She smiled, and replied, 

“ I ever dislike to speak of sickness or aught un- 
pleasant ; but you have a sympathetic face — ” 

Then, pausing a second, as if to compose her 
thought, she continued : 

“ It was the night of the last day in September, 


CHESTERFIELD STREET. 


lOI 


and so bitter cold that the ink froze in our bottles. 
It was so cloudy that early in the evening no stars 
were visible ; but at ten o’clock, a few scattering 
ones appearing, we sallied out, and my brother, 
while standing near the front of the telescope, cried 
out to me to change its motion to one side, for he 
was about fifteen feet above the ground, on a scaf- 
folding for the telescope, and could not help him- 
self. An iron hook was hanging down from one end 
of the groove in which the telescope moved — such 
an iron hook as butchers use for hanging meat on. 
The ground was covered a foot deep with melting 
snow, and, as I was running through it in the 
darkness, I fell on this hook, which entered my 
right leg just above my knee. ‘Hurry!’ I cried 
out, for I was in sore pain, ‘hurry! for I am 
hooked.’ My brother and the workmen were with 
me in a trice, but they could not lift me off without 
leaving nearly two ounces of my flesh behind. 
I had to be my own surgeon, by applying aqua- 
buscade and tying a kerchief about it for some 
days ; and then, after six weeks, as I had to be 
constantly on my feet with the telescopes, we saw 
there was danger of my losing my limb, and sent 
for Dr. Lind. The doctor said had a soldier met 


102 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


with such a hurt he would have been entitled to 
six weeks’ nursing in a hospital. 

“ So you see, Miss Hunter, even those who study 
the stars suffer the fate of mortals who keep their 
eyes on the ground.” 

I fell into deep thought over this quiet woman, 
and asked myself, “ Could ever such a flutter- 
budget as I fear I am fast becoming learn aught 
from her to make me more serious-minded ?” She is 
truly one of the wonderful females of England ; for 
there is naught she has not done, through her deep 
love for her brother, in the way of self-denial, 
though ’tis said her gifts are great, and only ex- 
celled by her sisterly devotion. She is now but 
little over thirty, and that is young for fame, father 
says. As a girl she had so meager an education, 
being a German, and her mother thinking that girls 
should learn nothing but housekeeping, that, when 
her father died, she had to earn her bread through 
dressmaking and millinery; and in this drudgery 
she continued till her brother became famous in 
Bath as organist and director of concerts for the 
fashionables. At Bath she gained great reputation 
for vocalizing, but gave all her opportunities for 
singing up so soon as her brother needed more 


CHESTERFIELD STREET. 


103 


of her time in astronomy. Now that the king has 
given Mr. Herschel a pension, and Miss Herschel 
one also, though ’tis said no king ever purchased the 
services of greatness at so cheap a rate, she has 
more leisure. It is thought that, whatever comets 
are in hiding anywhere in the starry heavens. 
Miss Herschel will sure discover them, her tele- 
scope is in such perpetual search. 

Mr. Charles Wesley broke in upon my reverie by 
bringing up the ubiquitous Mr. Horace Walpole, 
who began to talk to me at once on every subject 
under the sun. Though I was flattered by his at- 
tention — as who would not be ? — I could think only 
of our parrot at home, in his coat of green and red, 
and with his independent, conceited stare. And I 
liked him the less because he gossiped about our 
host and his brother beneath their very roof, so to 
speak, and in no complimentary terms. He asked 
had I been to the opera lately, and when I said no he 
laughed facetiously, and added that he had been to 
but one opera in a month, and that was Mr. Wesley’s. 

It seems that boys and girls sing freelj^ at these 
Methodist services ; “ charmingly,” said Mr. Wal- 
pole, and then, with a wink in his wicked eyes, he 
continued, “ hymns, in parts, to Scotch tunes.” 


104 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


I kept my own opinion snug, for Mr. Walpole is 
an old man, and, as a rule, if a young person speak 
all her thought to an old one she is set down for 
impudent. 

So I listened discreetly, and presently asked how 
the Methodist chapel looked (for it is the out-of- 
door meetings that Martha has attended). 

It is very neat, with true Gothic windows. Yet 
I am not converted. I was glad to see that luxury 
is creeping in upon them before persecution ; they 
have very neat mahogany stands for branches, and 
brackets of the same in taste. At the upper end is 
a broad hautpas of four steps, advancing in the 
middle : on this are two eagles with red cushions 
for the parson and clerk. Behind them rise three 
more steps, in the midst of which is a third eagle 
for pulpit. Scarlet armed-chairs to all three. On 
either hand a balcony for elect ladies. The rest 
of the congregation sit on forms. Behind the pit, 
in a dark niche, is a plain table within rails ; so, you 
see, the throne is for the apostle.” 

^‘And so it should be,” I said, hotly, waxing 
indignant to hear this feeble old man, who never, 
I believe, did a useful thing in his life, speak so 
lightly of those whom father treats with so much 


CHESTERFIELD STREET. 


105 


respect. The customs he describes are the same as 
those of the Lady Margaret Chapel, where we have 
ever worshiped. “ Is there not a choir, stately and 
sumptuous, in Westminster, for dignitaries, and is 
there not likewise a chancel with all due appur- 
tenances in St. Paul’s? I wonder that Mr. Wesley 
is so modest when he has such a following, which, 
my father says, will be yet greater, until it over- 
shadows our own State Church, unless it become 
more godly and less conformed to the fashions 
of the world.” 

I stopped suddenly, not because I could say no 
more, but because this was the longest speech I 
had ever made in my life, except to Martha, and 
because I saw Mr. Walpole gazing at me admir- 
ingly and as if he were not listening a whit to my 
reasoning, which seemed to me very good. 

“Have you ever seen Mr. John Wesley?” he 
asked. 

“ Yes,” I replied, embarrassment fast beginning 
to tie my tongue, now that I had stopped talking. 

“ He is a lean, fresh-colored old man, is he not? 
His hair this day was smoothly combed, but with a 
soupgon of curls at the ends. Wondrous clean, but 
as evidently an actor as Garrick. He spoke his 


io6 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


sermon, but so fast, and with so little accent, that 
I am sure he has often altered it, for it was like a 
lesson.” 

Mr. Walpole talked so peevishly that I could not 
have excused him had I not heard that he is sadly 
out of health. His ridicule has but confirmed me in 
the belief that Mr. Wesley is mightily stirring up 
England, for, young as I am, I have learned already 
to know that it is the most powerful who are most 
talked against. 

I knew, all the while that I was conversing with 
the master of Strawberry Hill, that James Keble 
was behind me. I felt him as surely as though I 
had eyes in the back of my head. And at the first 
real pause he said. 

Miss Hunter, your sedan is come to fetch you 
home. May I have the honor of handing you to it 
when you are ready?” 

I looked at him a moment, half-vexed and half- 
pleased, and asked, 

“ Is there no servant here to make so humble an 
announcement ? ” 

“ I am your servant,” he said, in a low tone, but 
not so low but that Mr. Walpole’s ears caught his 
words. 


CHES T ERF I ELD S TREE T, 1 07 

That old gossip smiled as he hobbled away on 
his gouty feet. 

you are my servant, Mr. Keble,” I said, 
“ you may, of course, hand me to my chair.” 

He colored finely at this unexpected sally, and 
was too disconcerted for a reply. 

Then I ran off to get ready, half fearing he would 
not help me, and knowing that I should feel greatly 
ashamed to fall back upon Mr. Wesley’s man- 
servant with so many fine gentlemen present. 

But Mr. Keble was at the foot of the staircase 
when I came down, looking as tall and solemn as 
if he were already an admiral, and gazing withal at 
me so despairingly — for I looked tall and grand too, 
with a lace scarf resting on top of my high frizzed 
toupee. I walked also with as lofty a step as I 
knew how. 

When he took my hand it was with such sup- 
pressed ardor that he sent a thrill of fright and 
pleasure both through me, and I fetched a sigh 
that he is not higher in the world. 

He looked as if he half guessed my thoughts, for 
his face softened, and as he said good-night — the 
torches outside the house lighting up his counte- 
nance till it showed like a fine piece of bronze — he 


io8 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


added, “ I go to sea again a fortnight hence. Shall 
you be sorry? ” 

I was sorry then and there beyond my control, 
and, had he struck me in the heart, I could not 
have felt a more sudden or heavy pang. 

He saw that I kept silence through surprise and 
regret. Lifting my hand and kissing it as it was 
never kissed before, he bowed, and gave Jack, a 
trusty old servant who has been with father many 
years, the word that I was ready, and away we 
went. Father had been suddenly called away an 
hour earlier on pressing business. 


THE STOLEN BOOKS. 


109 


CHAPTER X. 

The Stolen Books. 

f O soon as I got home Martha’s white and 
dolorous face acquainted me that something 
dreadful had happened. Though mother was 
sweet and serene as usual there was, nowithstand- 
ing, a gravity in her manner that betokened more 
than Martha’s face. 

“ Is aught the matter, mother darling?” I cried. 
“ Is father ill ? ” 

“111 with chagrin, Cicely, and anxiety; for some 
of his rarest and most valuable books are missing. 
The loss of the books is not the worst, however, 
for he is sure that no one knew where they were 
but Marcus, and your father would rather doubt 
^ himself than Marcus.” 

I turned faint as mother said this, for I loved 
Marcus too. I well knew, moreover, that it was 
not this good old man who was at fault, but no less 
a person than my wretched self. 

O, how the delightful party at Mr. Wesley’s and 


no 


CICELY'S CHOICEr 


my own light heart while there danced before my 
fancy to mock my horrified guilty self at this pres- 
ent moment. I tried to speak, but could not. 

Dear mother eyed me with a fleeting suspicion 
and then dismissed it. Putting her arm about me 
and smiling she said, “You are too tired to hear 
more to-night, and, as nothing can be done till 
morning, go to bed and rest, and to-morrow you 
shall know all.” 

She kissed me good-night in the drawing-room, 
and, calling Martha to her and bidding my maid 
care for me well — mother will feel that I am still a 
little, helpless child — she left me to go to father, 
while Martha and I went in the opposite direction, 
but not without an involuntary guilty look, which, 
had mother seen it, must have revealed all. So soon 
as Martha and I were in my room I pushed the bolt, 
and, falling in a heap on the floor, I wept bitterly. 

“ Don’t, don’t. Miss Cicely,” pleaded Martha. “ I 
thought your wit would keep us out of this scrape. 
If you take on thus I must go to Mrs. Hunter and 
confess all.” 

This speech stopped my tears and set me a think- 
ing. After a little our hope waxed, and between 
us we concocted a fine scheme. 


THE STOLEN BOOKS, 


III 


I must go back a little, dear aunt, and remind 
you that the day my fortune was told, as there was 
no time left for Martha, I had myself suggested 
that the Count Cagliostro would perhaps come to 
the house for her at some time when father and 
mother were away. 

This he refused till he happened to bethink him- 
self of father, when he asked would Martha receive 
him in Dr. Hunter’s private rooms. 

We were aghast, for, though the rooms are often 
empty, it is Marcus who carries the keys in father’s 
absence ; for Marcus, though a servant, is no fool, 
and wise in chymistry and physics. Latterly he 
has even compounded many medicines. 

Martha said she knew a way of getting the keys, 
an I would consent, which I finally did. I was so 
foolish as to say that father had some queer and 
ancient books on the black art by which he set 
great store, and that, if time allowed, I would show 
them to the count. 

He looked highly pleased, and, indeed, so elated 

that I half repented of the offer, especially as I had 

overheard father tell Marcus where they were, while 

I sat reading behind a curtain. Many a time had 

I dipped into these books, when I had gained 
8 


II2 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


special permission to sit in the library on such oc- 
casions as I knew father to be away and Marcus 
busy in the adjoining room with the chymicals. 
Indeed, I am sure it was these very tomes that 
first opened to me all the wonderful world of fate, 
and visions, and fortune-telling. 

Every thing, unfortunately, happened just as 
Martha and I wished. 

Father and mother went suddenly to Hampton 
Court. Martha at once got word to the count, while 
I, at her advice, fixed a dainty dish for Marcus for 
which he has a weakness, but which always throws 
him into a colic. 

Marcus refused the temptation at first. I pooh- 
poohed until he succumbed. Scolding himself 
soundly when the pain soon ensued, he betook him- 
self to bed for a good rest, and thus left the coast 
clear. 

Martha stole the keys from his jacket pocket on 
her return, and when the count came he told her a 
more wonderful fortune than any I have ever heard. 

He asked to see the books, which are little and 
worn, and bound in wood, with silver mountings. 

After reading them for the space of a few minutes 
he laid them down and walked about the rooms, 


THE STOLEN BOOKS. 


113 

picking up some of the instruments, smelling the 
drugs, reading the titles of books; and finally say- 
ing, suddenly, as if he were reminded of something, 
that he must be gone, he pronounced a strange kind 
of incantation, which he called a blessing, over 
Martha and me, and withdrew through father’s own 
private door. 

After much thinking I decided that Martha and 
I must rise betimes and go at break of day to her 
aunt, waylaying the famous count at breakfast. 

This I was the more ready to try as I had never 
seen London streets at dawn, and was, moreover, 
nothing loth, if possible, to find the famous fortune- 
teller an impious fraud ; for the very thought of 
being a duchess made me sick at heart with the 
knowledge that James Keble would again so soon 
be gone. 

I slept heavily, with wondrously bad dreams and 
startings. 

When Martha called me I awakened with such 
an oppression that I could have felt no worse had 
I been summoned to a funeral. 

The city presented a strange and solemn but 
work-a-day sight, for none were abroad but the 
toilers, or belated paupers whose dreary gaze and 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


114 

shambling steps horrified me so, together with the 
memory of my wickedness, that I painfully realized 
that the way of sin is easy but sorrie and dreadful. 

There was such a heavy fog, too, over all ; the 
dim morning light was more somber and forbidding 
than the evening twilight. The tall buildings, with 
their streaks of velvet soot, stared at me like huge, 
unwashed faces down which tears had run. Every 
now and then some one half stopped and looked at 
us, till shortly I felt like crying out to every passer- 
by who I was. 

Well, after what seemed an age, we finished our 
lonesome journey, and just in time, early as it was, 
to behold the great count about to sally forth. He 
looked tremendously grand, and more surprised 
than any one we had hitherto met. 

Face to face with him it was not so easy as I 
thought to ask about the books, or, if need be, 
utter an accusation. 

But after a dheary pause, and just as he made 
about to go out, I came plump to the question, 
asking did he remember the small books on al- 
chymy and the black art I had shown to him in 
Dr. Hunter’s library. 

“Yes, certainly,” he said, and perked his brows 


THE STOLEN BOOKS. 


ns 

high and put on a great dignity, which was quite 
unnecessary, as I had made no charge. 

“ They are missing,” I said. 

“ Indeed ! ” he replied ; “ I am sorry. But pray 
allow me to pass out, as I am already late for a 
meeting with the Grand Master of Arcanum Lodge, 
near St. Paul’s church-yard.” 

I all at once felt downhearted over the hopeless- 
ness of our undertaking. Then waxing reckless as 
the count opened the door, I cried, 

“ O, sir, give me back the books, for father’s old 
and trusty servant, Marcus, is suspected, and this 
loss may cost him his place. Give me back the 
books and I will never tell.” 

“ I have not your books, miss, and feel myself 
insulted to be called in question for a servant’s un- 
doubted dishonesty. Such books are naught to me 
wLen I possess all the knowledge they contain, and 
far more.” 

With that he strode from the room, his blue fox 
cape flying out as a puff of wind got beneath it ; and 
he was gone before I knew it. 

While Martha and I stood stock still, staring at 
each other as though the bottom had fallen out be- 
neath our feet, madam, his wife, came in by an- 


ii6 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


other door with one of the identical books in her 
hand. We knew it instantly because of its curious 
silver setting. 

I rushed to her with tears in my voice and eyes, 
beseeching her to let me see the volume, which she 
was loth to do, but could not, indeed, refuse. 

I opened it immediately, and there, underneath 
our own neat device, was father’s name. 

I clasped the book to my heart and exclaimed, 
“ Pray, pray, madam, fetch me the other two vol- 
umes quickly, for my father is in great perplexity 
and wrath over their strange disappearance.” 

She grew highly indignant when I asked for the 
others, saying that they had them not, and that 
this one she had taken from the count’s cape, where 
it was caught in a wide fold quite unknown to 
him. 

“ Nay,” but I insisted, “ there were three, and if 
one got caught the others must have falkn into the 
same company.” 

“ Keep the one you have,” she cried, “ and be 
thankful, and cease these insults, or I shall call for 
help.” 

With these words on her lips, she sailed out of 
the room as her husband had done. My maid and 


THE STOLEN BOOKS. 


117 


I were about to follow suit, when Martha’s aunt 
came in, with her finger on her lips, and whispered, 
“ ’Sh ! I have heard all. The other books are in 
pawn ; for the count, though he seems so prosper- 
ous, is in dire straits. I saw the three volumes iri 
his room yesterday, and later in the day the ticket 
that 1 have learned to know. It is the shop of the 
Lion and Tiger.” 

“ Please, aunt, find out the cost, and Mistress 
Cicely can, I know, redeem them.” 

But the aunt shook her head, and said, “ The 
books are of great value. The count expects to 
sell them shortly. He showed them to me, saying 
they were worth a small fortune. Little did I think, 
though, that they were the property of Dr. Hunter.” 

I wrung my hands in my distress, and was 
tempted to rush to Madame Felicita’s apartment 
and seize the ticket by force. 

But at that moment she came back and of her 
own accord handed me the ticket, and with as 
haughty a grace as if she were bestowing a gift 
upon a menial. 

“ O, thank you, madam,” I cried, feeling a real 
gratitude. 

Let no harm come to us from this,” she said. 


i8 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


warningly, “ or blight and misfortune of all kinds 
will attack you and yours. I depend on you never 
to tell whence you got the books.” 

If she thought to play on me for a superstitious 
simpleton she was greatly mistaken; for she and 
the count might have told my fortune from then 
till doomsday and I had not believed it. 

But I said nothing, and, I suppose, looked humble ; 
for I certainly felt so, although in memory of my 
weakness and duplicity. However, she seemed sat- 
isfied that she had scared us well. 

When I was on the street again, though it was 
nigh six of the clock, and I knew we ran great 
danger of being missed did we not return shortly, I 
was resolved to find the pawnbroker s and get the 
books if I could, for I had taken all the money I 
had with me. I also determined to make a full and 
free confession when I reached home. 

I asked Martha did she know where the place 
was, and though she said no she added that she 
could doubtless find it, as she went much about 
London alone. 

Although we had been in two sorry plights to- 
gether I did not dream a third could happen, and 
so gave myself up to her guidance. 


THE STOLEN BOOKS. 


119 

Hither and thither we wandered, now east, now 
west, for each one we asked professed to know 
where the Lion and Tiger was ; but when we 
reached the places, they were inns, or shops, for we 
had been ashamed to inquire for so vulgar a thing 
as a pawnshop. 

O, I got so hot and dusty and hungry and faint, 
and felt I must sit down soon and cry, no matter 
where, when, all at once, as a church-bell rang out 
in a clanging voice the hour of twelve, my tearful 
eyes espied a huge sign bearing a lion rampant and 
a tiger about to spring. 

“ Tis here, ’tis here, Martha ! ” I cried, with fresh 
hope. 

“ God be thanked ! ” ejaculated my maid, “ for I 
am sheer done out.” 

We picked up courage and entered the shop, 
which was indeed the place. 

When I presented the ticket and asked might I 
have the books, the man surlily said “ yea, for forty 
guineas.” 

“I have but twenty!” I exclaimed, in despair. 
“ The books are mine. They were stolen.” 

“ For forty guineas and no less,” repeated the 


man. 


120 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


Then nothing but the fact that I was Cicely 
Hunter, though sore disgraced indeed, kept me 
from bursting into a flood of tears. 

We went out into the garish day, Martha and I, 
Martha sighing heavily and saying, “ It will cost 
me my place and my good name. Miss Cicely. 
Whatever shall I do ” 

And I, while trying to comfort her, feared that 
she said what was only too true, at least about the 
place ; but I nothing doubted that father would 
protect her name, for, though he is ever just, he is 
merciful. 

It was three o’clock when we came out on the 
beautiful square where my home stands. Never 
did our house look more stately, or I feel more 
crestfallen, than when Martha sounded the great 
brass knocker. 

It was Marcus who opened to us, looking most 
anxious, but not over the books, but concerning 
my naughty self. He was uttering exclamations 
of joy, when mother, white as a ghost, flew down 
the great staircase. She took me in her arms, and 
could ask no questions for weeping. 

I wept too. 

Martha, leaning against the wall, hid her counte- 


THE STOLEN BOOKS, 


I2I 


nance, while the tears rolled down Marcus’s cheeks. 
How long we culprits would have remained in 
this silent state I do not know, had not my mother 
roused herself, and, leading me by the hand, while 
bidding Martha follow, and commanding Marcus 
send word in every direction that we had returned, 
for father had dispatched criers and messengers all 
over London, and was abroad himself seeking for 
me, she conducted me to her own chamber, which 
was ever to me a most sacred and withal solemn 
spot. 

She sat down on a settle by the chimney-place, 
where there was a fire burning ; for, though I was 
hot from long exercise, she had grown chill from 
long fright. 

Martha stood at one side, most abject and fright- 
ened. Mother glanced at her and, pitying her, said 
kindly, but still severely, “ Sit down, Martha.” 

Then, without question, and with my head on 
mother’s lap, for I could not look into her eyes, 
I poured out my story from beginning to end. 

At last I stopped, for sheer want of breath, 
from both talking and weeping. 

Martha had cried aloud long before I was 
through. 


122 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


Mother stroked my head in silence and at last . 
said, 

“ Poor, silly Cicely! I would never have thought 
so superstitious a child could have been born to 
your father and me.” 

‘‘Don’t, don’t, mother!” I cried, in hot shame. 

“ I am silly ! But, ’tis enough to know it, without 
hearing it from you.” 

Just then father came in, paler than I had ever 
seen him. So great was his joy that he held 
out his arms to me. I rushed into them like a 
frightened bird, and, with my face hid in his bosom, 
cried, “Tell him, mother, for I cannot go through 
such a tale again.” 

And mother told him, but with such softenings 
and extenuations and hints of my fatigue nigh to 
sickness, and with a last word that I was sufficiently 
punished, she thought, and that we must all rejoice 
over Marcus ! 

I knew father would not chide after such words, 
for in all my life I never saw him go counter to 
mother’s pleadings. 

So I ventured to look up. 

He took my face in his hands and kissed it, and 
then pressed me to his breast again. 


THE STOLEN BOOKS. 


123 


I knew I was forgiven before saying, “ Father, 
please forgive me.” 

Martha was dismissed with an admonition that, 
though just, it pained me to hear. I thought, 
“ O what it is to be a daughter when one has done 
wrong ! ” 

I said, “ Dear father, if God forgives as you and 
mother do, I will love him with all my heart.” 

Mother said softly: 

“ When my father and my mother forsake me, 
then the Lord will take me up.” 

Father sent for Marcus. He and I shook hands 
and the poor fellow said : 

“ Thank you heartily. Miss Cicely.” 

He spoke as humbly as though it were he who 
had done the wrong, and not I. 

Father took my twenty guineas, which he said I 
must lose that I might gain a due sense of values, 
and, adding to them twenty guineas more, he sent 
Marcus for the books, which we all had the great 
pleasure of seeing uninjured and safely in their 
places again. 

I suppose it is right that Martha is to be sent 
into the country for a time and I am to have a 
new maid. I shall miss Martha sadly. 


124 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


CHAPTER XL 


Father. 



SLATHER and mother are lovelier and kinder 


than ever to me. I fancy they think me a 
trifle younger than they have been wont to regard 
me ; it is rather hard to bear. 

Somehow all these changes, slight as many of 
them are, make me feel as if another Cicely had 
stepped into my shoes. 

Father asks me to sit with him, too, so much 
these days, and though his Voice is most gentle his 
eye speaks command. Is it because he does not 
trust me? Oftentimes he watches me; sometimes 
he feels my pulse. Each time I would fain say, 
“ Father, I am not ill,” but I dare not. 

Now and then I fear he is ridiculing me. 

Sometimes his tones are so tender, as if I were 
indeed a little child. Then I fancy he feels sorry 
that I am without brother or sister, and tries to be 
all relations in one to me. 

Whatever his manner means, I love him more 


FA THER. 


125 


than I ever did in my life, and prize the talks we 
have alone together vastly. 

He asked me yesterday if I would like to study 
chemistry with him, which he says is the new name 
for alchymy. When I said “yes” joyfully, and 
then colored with painful remembrance, he added, 
with his back to me, but soon thereafter giving me 
a most loving glance, “ This useful science, daugh- 
ter, is the product of the untiring curiosity of man 
to penetrate the secrets of nature. It has been 
of invaluable assistance to medicine. Whatever 
we study deeply and well reveals law. God always 
works by law, except in the rarest cases ; even 
then, I may say, he works by law, as he is him- 
self the creator of law. God’s laws, my daughter, 
are so revealing that we can accomplish far more 
through them than if we were masters of all the 
signs and magic of sorcerers and witches.” 

While he was talking thus, Marcus came to an- 
nounce the Reverend Mr. John Wesley, who followed 
close behind, immediately appearing at the door 
of father’s private room, where we were sitting. 

He smiled on seeing me. When I rose to with- 
draw he said, “ Nay, with Dr. Hunter’s permission, 
for I have naught to say that you may not hear.” 


126 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


So I took my seat again at a nod from father, 
while noting Mr. Wesley’s spirituality. 

His narrow, plaited stock, his coat, with its small, 
upright collar, his knee-breeches without buckles, 
and his snowy head made me think of the apostles ; 
why, I know not, for most of them were poor 
fishermen and this man has such elegance and 
breeding that one would think he had spent all his 
life at court. 

Father asked him to draw near the fire. He 
refused, though he is above eighty. He has an air 
of perfect health, though also of extreme fragility. 
He must indeed be a giant in either strength or 
endurance, for he remarked, as if he told nothing 
unusual, that he was now busy writing a life of his 
dear friend, Fletcher, on which he could spend no 
more than fifteen hours a day, lest he should hurt 
his eyes. 

Father smiled, and asked Mr. Wesley to what he 
attributed such power for labor ; to which he replied, 
with sprightliness : 

Ever since that good fever which I had in 
North Ireland I have had, as it were, a new consti- 
tution ; all my pains and aches have forsaken me 
and I have been a stranger to weariness of any 


FA THER. 


127 


kind till quite recently. But now a strange fatigue 
besets me.” 

Father looked thoughtful, and, as I glanced at 
his face, I noted its extreme paleness in contrast 
with Mr. Wesley’s fresh complexion. Father’s 
brow, though he is but fifty-five, is deeply lined ; 
Mr. Wesley’s is clear and smooth. Father’s eye, 
though brilliant when he is excited, is often dull 
and anxious, as if he were suffering from secret 
pain ; Mr. Wesley’s is ever the brightest and most 
piercing. Father is a great man, the greatest in 
the world to me, and yet I wonder why he, a 
physician, looks more ill than this “physician 
of souls,” as I heard Mr. Wesley call himself. Is it 
because the preacher has such constant travel and 
change of air? Is it because God has given him 
special health for a special purpose? Is his one 
of the rare cases in which, as father expressed it 
when he was talking to me about law, God has 
made an exception, in order to further his own 
plans? It is indeed current talk that never did any 
man, no, not St. Paul himself, have so high a 
degree of power over so large a body of men as is 
possessed by this man. 

Mr. Wesley, after some further talk, said he had 
9 


128 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


come to consult father concerning his Medical Dis- 
pensary, which has already become notable in Lon- 
don and much opposed by physicians in general. 

Some dp not hesitate to brand Mr. Wesley as a 
quack. Father says this is wrong. Though ’tis 
much to be regretted that he does not regularly 
enter the profession of medicine and remove the 
odium, since for six or seven and twenty years he 
has made anatomy and physic the diversion of his 
leisure hours. 

But the great preacher thinks otherwise, and, with 
medicine as with churches, wants as few limitations 
upon himself as possible. 

Father must be greatly under his influence or a 
firm believer in him, for he only smiled at Mr. Wes- 
ley’s arguments in favor of such independent pro- 
ceedings and gave the help requested, which was an 
introduction to some reliable apothecary. 

Mr. Wesley wants the apothecary to take charge 
of his store of drugs. He has already engaged an 
experienced surgeon. He himself has prescribed 
for six or seven hundred poor and has cured many, 
furnishing the medicines from his private purse. 

He has become a rich man, father says, because 
of the great circulation of the books and tracts he 


FA THER, 


29 


has writ ; but out of his wealth he gives himself but 
a servant’s wages, taking only thirty pounds a year 
and an occasional suit of clothes. 

All the rest, above his traveling expenses, he gives 
away — some to his relatives, some to his preachers, 
some to build school and preaching houses, and 
much daily to the poor and unfortunate who come 
nigh him in his ministrations. 

As this wonderfully active old gentleman rose to 
go, however, father spoke of his trembling step and 
hand, and said : 

Sir, permit me to prescribe a tonic for you.” 

Mr. Wesley replied, ’Tis true that I feel worn, 
but God has more than one method of healing either 
the soul or the body.” 

“ Nevertheless,” replied father, and he spoke most 
firmly, “ the only way that God will cure illness for 
you as well as for your patients, is by human meth- 
ods when those methods are obtainable.” 

Mr. Wesley looked at him a full minute out of 
his bright eyes and finally said : 

“ There is a greater Physician than you.” 

Father bowed and answered quickly, It is He 
who called me to the vocation of medicine.” 

Mr. Wesley did not take the prescription. 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


130 

When he had gone father sat down beside me 
and remained thoughtfully silent for some time. 
Finally he said : 

“ Cicely, he is a great man. I know none as great. 
But he has two weaknesses. He thinks God will 
interrupt natural law, however unnecessary, for him^ 
and he does not understand women.” 

I thought two such traits sounded oddly, spoken 
of together, but said nothing, so pleased was I 
with his confidence. 

Father, as if half repenting that he had expressed 
himself so freely, added, 

“ ’Tis well he has two such spots on his otherwise 
flawless good sense, or I should think he did not 
belong to this world. Could you but trust yourself 
as much to his prayers as you did to that Sicilian 
impostor, Cagliostro, who, by the way, is driven out 
of London, I should be happy.” 

At the very mention of Count Cagliostro’s name 
I felt wretched, and father seeing it stroked my hair, 
saying: “There, there! We will never mention 
him again. He has deceived wise men, nobles, and 
kings, all over Europe ; why should he not have 
stolen your good sense ? 

“ You are so much like me, though, daughter, and 


FA THE J?. 


131 

such fancies even in my youth were so foreign to 
me, that 1 feared for a time you were ill. ’Twas a girl’s 
vagary that would never have entered your head 
had I remembered a year ago that your mind had 
grown with your body, and must have food accord- 
ingly. Henceforth you shall find me a companion.’’ 

His words filled me with delight, for I knew that 
he felt no longer a lurking displeasure or distrust. 

I threw my arms around his neck and, hiding my 
face against his cheek, said : 

“ Dear father, I am happy once more.” 

But, somehow, after I had left him the memory 
of his paleness haunted me, and I asked myself 
boldly for the first time — a great fear clamoring at 
my heart, 

“ Can father die ? ’* 


132 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


CHAPTER XII. 


Waylaid by Highwaymen. 

JTl have now to write an acccmnt of the most con- 
sequential day I have ever spent. When I think 
of the direful results that might have followed, I am 
filled with thankfulness. Mother says that it is as 
if father and I had been restored from the dead to 
her. 

Father was summoned in great haste to Windsor, 
and, as he has seemed of late to dread to travel alone 
in his chaise, mother proposed my going with him, 
as she had severe headache. 

To my surprise and delight, he assented. 

As we set out at an early hour o’ the morning, 
and unexpectedly, we had a simple but hot break- 
fast of eggs and chops. Father ate a rasher, also ; 
but I was too elated to satisfy more than a meager 
appetite. 

We reached the castle duly. 

Father had his audience, while I remained in 
charge of one of the court ladies, to my pleasure 


WAYLAID BY HIGHWAYMEN, 


33 


and profit — and to hers, too, I ween — for she ad- 
mitted it to be a sorry and monotonous task to dance 
attendance on royal needs and whims, and sorely 
bewailed the fate of a woman high in rank and poor 
in purse. 

I said little, for I knew little on such a theme ; but 
as we walked up and down the terrace, and I looked 
at the ancient turrets and the vast walls of Windsor, 
and down the glades, through which I saw the deer, 
and at the Thames, so crystal and still, I thought 
were I as old as this lady — for she must be aged 
near to mother, and must have all questions of life 
settled — I should certainly like no better place in 
which to spend my last days than Windsor. 

When I ventured to say something to this pur- 
pose she shook her head sadly, and said : 

“Ah, child, the misfortune of life is that the 
heart does not grow old like the body.” 

If this be true, and my heart be as eager as it is 
now when I am old, please God my life may be al- 
ways filled with change and signal events. 

Well, it was at early candle-light when we started 
back to London, father and I inside our comfort- 
able, well-padded chaise, Marcus on horseback, gal- 
loping behind, and two stout men on the box. 


134 


CICELY* S CHOICE. 


A bright yellow moon, like a sickle, hung in the 
blue sky. The roads were heavy with the spring rains. 
A bank of ominous cloud shadowed the west. The 
air was full of woody smells. The nightingale from 
time to time uttered its pathetic, heart-stricken 
note. 

I cuddled up to father’s side and, placing my hand 
in his, gave myself up to the novelty of the journey 
and the sense of mystery with which I had always 
invested night travel. 

I bethought me of the tales at present current 
about highwaymen, but, with father beside me, knew 
no fear. 

We had gone half our journey, having already 
made one change of horses, and had gotten well 
under way with a fresh relay, when suddenly, as we 
were well in the gloom of a stretch of forest, a stal- 
wart man, whom the carriage-lamps momentarily 
revealed, sprang out of a copse between the chaise 
and the wood and cried, 

“ Stop ! ” 

The coachman, true to previous orders, spurred 
the horses, and though our vehicle was not one of 
the more modern ones with springs, it stood the 
sudden jolting well. 


WA YLAID B Y HIGH W A YMEN. 


35 


A cumbersome chaise, though, was no match for 
a squad of men armed to the teeth. Presently the 
horses made a violent lurch and we knew that they 
had been seized by the bits. 

Marcus shot once or twice, but to no purpose, 
because, except for the light raying from the car- 
riage-lamps, the gloom had become Egyptian. 

Father then put down the glass, and immediately 
a masked face was thrust at the opening, its owner 
demanding, “Your purses and watches!” 

“ By whose right do you require them ? ” asked 
father, haughtily, hoping to gain time ; for he ex- 
pected that Marcus and the two men would make 
themselves felt the next minute. 

He got for answer, “The right of might.” 

As these words were spoken the wind flared the 
light suddenly, and we saw in that flash a dozen 
masked men grouped about our chaise. 

Father without further ado delivered up his purse 
and watch. My own pretty French chatelaine fell 
a victim, too, to their rapacity. 

They unfastened our horses also, and, saddling 
them speedily, as well as unseating poor Marcus 
and taking his roan as well, they quickly mounted 
three of their men. Bidding us good-night as if 


36 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


they had been gentlemen of blood, they splashed 
off down the muddy road. 

And there we were, alone in the forest ! 

“ We are five miles from an inn or place of shel- 
ter,” said father, his eyes fixed on me in deep per- 
plexity. “ I have been in worse plights, for the men 
and I can walk twenty miles if needs be, Cicely. 
But what am I to do with you ? ” 

Do nothing,” I said, “ but let me follow on. 
Trust me also for a five-miles walk.” 

So we set out, the men lighting flambeaux which 
had been put in the carriage as a precaution on leav- 
ing home. We abandoned our poor vehicle and 
pushed forward into the sullen gloom of the woods. 
At first every sound made me start with trembling 
fear. Soon the highway became so full of deep 
ruts and pools of thick, muddy water that our shoes 
were speedily soaked. When I lifted my feet they 
were as heavy as if cannon-balls had been chained 
to them. 

We tried to continue our way under the trees, 
but the brush and briers soon put an end to that 
experiment, and we were glad to return to the miry 
road, though fuller than ever, it seemed to me, of 
dangerous quagmires. 


WAYLAID BY HIGHWAYMEN, 137 

All at once father stopped, his hand on his side, 
and said : 

“ I can go no further.” 

Marcus administered a cordial. Father stood 
panting as if he would never get his breath again. 
Great drops of sweat stood out on his face, though 
the air was so cool. 

Had he been a smaller man two of the servants 
might have formed a chair with their hands, but he 
is such a giant even among big men that there was 
no other resource for him but to remain where he 
was or make a mighty effort to'go on. 

I thought of what Mr. Wesley had said about 
God as a physician. I cried out in my heart, “ O 
thou great Physician, help father in this extremity ! ” 

We waited silently a few minutes longer. A 
faint comforting hope nestled in my breast that per- 
haps God would give us special help for this special 
need. 

O, it was a solemn hour. The night-jars called 
mournfully back and forth. The nightingales sent 
out the saddest, unearthliest notes. A sullen pall 
of heavy clouds mantled the sky. The rising wind 
and growing dampness betokened an oncoming 


storm. 


138 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


All at once father said, stoutly, “ I feel better 
now ; let us press forward before the storm strikes 
us.” 

On we went. 

I kept close at his side and presently whispered, 

“ Father, I have been praying to God, because 
Mr. Wesley called him the great Physician. I think 
we shall reach a refuge.” 

“No doubt of it. Cicely,” said father. “ Keep on 
praying.” 

I did. 

It was nigh midnight when we came out of the 
wood and also on a firmer stretch of road. But 
though our footing was more solid, and we had met 
no more highwaymen, the rain was falling steadily, 
and the gusty wind drove it through our garments 
so that we were drenched to the skin. 

But father did not falter again, and, now that the 
road was more even, he took my hand and, pressing 
it tenderly, said, 

“You are a brave and acceptable traveling com- 
panion. I warrant, Cicely, if there v/ere need, there 
is the making of a soldier’s wife in you.” 

I felt my face grow hot, though it was dark and 
the air so cool ; for before my fancy, as if he were a 


WA YLAID B Y HIGH W A YMEN, 


139 


painting by Sir Joshua, rose the stalwart form of 
James Keble, with such a coaxing light in his eye, 
and such a persuading smile about his mouth, that 
the very night was enchanted with his presence. 

However, I said right soberly, 

“Yes, if need be, I think I could; but I believe 
myself best cut out for a man of peace — one who 
loves his estate, his dogs, his fireside, and his 
church.” Such things does Lord Carew fancy. 

Father laughed a bit, squeezed my hand again, 
and saying, “ All in the good Lord’s time,” we 
trudged on in silence. All at once a light glim- 
mered on our view. We each exclained joyfully 
as we saw that one little star of hope in the midst 
of the dark and rainy night. Soon another and 
another peeped out. Presently Marcus cried, joy- 
fully, “’Tis the inn of the Red Dragon.” 

A half hour later we had reached the inn. By 
good luck the keeper and his wife were still up. 

There was a great ado among the sleepy serv- 
ants to supply us with suitable shelter and raiment. 
The inn-keeper’s good wife speedily stripped me of 
my wet garments and gave me some of her own, 
which were big enough for me to take a long jour- 
ney in and then not come to any boundary lines. 


140 


' CICELY'S CHOICE. 


As soon as I was clad I went into father s cham- 
ber, for his room adjoined mine, to see how he felt. 

He was already in bed, but feverish, and with a 
heavy, labored breathing that betokened no good. 

“ Madam,** said I to our landlady, after the space 
of an hour, “ my father has been long ailing, and I 
fear a heavy illness. Bid your good man have a 
chaise-and-four ready at break of day with suitable 
escort, so that we may get back to London with all 
haste.** 

Having seen the men, moreover, and bade them 
get what sleep they could, I was about to repair to 
father’s side again with the intent to watch alone, 
when Marcus waylaid me and begged, with tears 
in his eyes, to keep vigil with me, to which I finally 
consented, and with a little secret relief. 

The new care, which the howling wind and dash- 
ing rain further intensified, sat heavily on me. 

There was a huge log fire burning in the fire-place 
in father’s room. Anon a shower of sparks would 
fly up the vast throat of the chimney, like a com- 
pany of departing spirits. I have ever leaned to 
the superstition that our souls are imprisoned light. 
Then a hollow blast would blow down upon the 
fire, pressing the flames to either side in flat and 


WAYLAID BY HIGHWAYMEN. 


141 


crouching shapes, and I would fancy them terrified 
human beings prostrating themselves before the 
power of some invisible spirit. 

So the night wore away, father sleeping heavily 
and from time to time moaning as if his dreams 
were troubled. 

Marcus rested his arm on the foot of the bed and 
laid his head thereon ; but often he snored so badly 
that I was obliged to awaken him, to his great 
shame and confusion. 

I kept the fire well ablaze, as it served to both 
feed my fancy and keep the room warm. 

But once I fell asleep and I dreamed that Mr. 
Keble and I were tossing alone in a small boat far 
out to sea. Above us was a fair blue sky, around 
us was a wondrous company of birds singing, and 
in their midst Charles Wesley chanting one of his 
father’s hymns and playing a most winsome melody 
on his Stradivarius. 

When I came out of this dream the daylight was 
already grayly creeping in through a small diamond- 
paned and heavily-leaded window, which I opened 
for a few minutes to get a whiff of the cold morn- 
ing air. But I speedily closed it, fearing draughts 
for father. 


142 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


Wakening Marcus, I sallied forth to ask for my 
own clothes, which were immediately brought to 
my chamber, sorrie-looking indeed, but still wear- 
able. My shoes hurt my feet sorely as I tried to 
put them on. 

When I went back to father he was awake, and 
anxious to get up. Then I told him about the 
chaise, and the preparations for his journey. He 
drew me down and kissed me, and said I was a 
most acceptable daughter. 

We got him up and dressed, though I thought he 
would faint. Just as the sun was peeping gloriously 
over the horizon, and lighting up the storm-clouds 
fleeing toward the east, we started for London, and 
reached home without further mishap. 

It was pathetic to see mother’s joy and grief ; 
joy that we were back safely — for she, mindful of 
the frequent assaults upon travelers even within the 
city limits — had feared the most horrible fate for us 
after the time had passed for our return, and grief 
that father was so faint and ill that he had to be 
supported to his chamber. 

There he now lies, very ill still, though mending 
slowly, but likely never to be very strong, as his 
heart is much affected. 


WA YLAID B V HIGHWA YMEN, 


143 


He has promised mother, if he gets well, that he 
will drop some of his ambitions and be more a man 
of leisure. Mr. Wesley has been much with him 
of late, often praying with him and in many ways 
deepening his religious impressions. 

It would not surprise me did he consent to let 
me go to some of the morning and other Method- 
ist meetings, for which privilege I have hitherto 
pleaded in vain. One very amusing thing has hap- 
pened. While Mr. Wesley has given father many 
new thoughts on religion, father has at length per- 
suaded the great preacher to undergo a course of 
medical treatment. 

Mother and I quite often have Mr. Wesley at 
meals with us, and at table he is most entertaining. 
He certainly knows how to make himself agreeable 
to all manner of minds and persons. The abstrac- 
tion of scholarship is not apparent in any thing he 
says or does, and he tells so many quaint and in- 
structive stories that his conversation is never tedi- 
ous. Mother says that it is ever so with the greatly 
learned who have at the same time the breeding 
and associations of gentlemen. 

Mr. Wesley is a most elegant scholar in Greek, 

and learned, too, in other languages ; and as he has 
10 


144 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


traveled more than one hundred thousand miles, 
having seen ajso many persons of all classes and 
conditions, it does seem as if there were no subject 
on which he cannot speak entertainingly. 

Dear mother, from being full of prejudices against 
the Methodists, and holding the opinion that these 
new reforms in religion in England are only for the 
very simple and ignorant, is becoming deeply per- 
suaded that there are foul corruptions in our glori- 
ous and venerable Church that must be blotted out 
if we would not suffer the fate of the Roman 
Church. 

It would not one whit surprise me to find our 
whole little family testing the sacredness and effi- 
cacy of what Mr. Wesley calls the “ new birth ” 
and the “ new freedom.” He in no way counte- 
nances separation from the Church, but only greater 
godliness and simplicity in the Church. 

I must write no more to-day, as I have to in- 
struct my new maid in her duties. 


ALMOST A PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE, 


145 


CHAPTER XIII. 

I Nearly Receive a Proposal of Marriage. 

f ANCY, my new maid, is indeed an odd piece. 

She is both humble and obstinate — two 
traits that go oft together. She is as pretty and 
thrifty-looking withal as our English flowers, with 
soft, black eyes, and a firm little mouth as shut up 
as an oyster. She is quite different from Martha, 
who was so full of words that her ideas were forever 
being presented both in and out of season. Never- 
theless I miss Martha. 

I had but just completed showing Nancy my be- 
longings, telling her. my habits and my expectations, 
to which she responded never a word but “ Yes, 
miss,” so oft as I looked at her, when Marcus knocked 
at my door to announce that Mr. Charles Wesley, 
junior, was in the west parlor, and had asked the 
honor of seeing me. 

There has been something of late in this young 
man’s look and manner rather warmer than should 
be, provided naught came of it ; but as it is for 


146 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


men to speak their minds on tender themes and 
for women to hear what they have to say, there was 
nothing for me to do but surmise, and meantime 
act with the courtesy which I truly feel in my heart 
toward this excellent young gentleman. 

I found him, as Marcus said, in the west parlor, 
which is a gay room indeed, being much decorated 
in stucco of white and gold, with hangings and all 
to match, wondrously dainty and delicate ! I am 
not surprised that even wealthy Florentines have 
adopted this chaste yet rich method of ornamenting 
rooms. 

I took Mr. Wesley’s hand, which is long, with 
tapering fingers, such as can well manage any in- 
strument, I should judge. 

Knowing that he had been at Windsor when I 
last heard of him, I asked quicyy, before he could 
insinuate aught less matter-of-fact, “ How long have 
you been come back?” 

'‘Since yesternight,” he replied, but as if his 
thoughts were elsewhere. 

“ And how does the Princess Charlotte come on 
in her music ?” I continued, with an immense show 
of interest in the royal family, although it was 
merely, as you can fancy, for the sake of keeping 


ALMOST A PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE. 147 

this young musical preceptor on cold-blooded 
themes. 

“ Excellently,” he answered. “ She has fair talent. 
Like the other daughters of his majesty I fear she 
reflects far more honor on her illustrious parents 
than the sons are ever like to do. The crown- 
prince makes a fair show of interest in music, and 
often tells me that if he ever become king he will 
make me court organist.” 

At this moment my guest’s clear, sweet eyes fell 
upon a spinet, also in white and gold, that father 
had had made for this room, and for the first time 
forgetting me, he sprang toward it, opened it, and 
was for trying its quality, when he seemed to 
bethink him, for he turned half toward me and 
said. 

My Uncle John thinks poorly of my profession.” 

“Why?” I asked, in unfeigned surprise. 

“ Because,” he continued, with a trifle of embar- 
rassed hesitation, “ I cannot avoid being very fre- 
quently among elegant men and women that are 
godless.” 

“And could you wish to avoid me?” I quickly 
and inadvertently asked. “ ’Tis true I am not over- 
pious, but neither am I elegant.” 


148 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


“That I cannot admit,” he gallantly replied. 
‘ The query with Uncle John would be, ‘Are you 
worldly and elegant ? ’ I fear, however, that he 
thinks worldliness and elegance seldom separated.” 

“ Nay, but,” I retorted, “ the Reverend Mr. John 
Wesley must then be the most worldly of ministers, 
since he is the most truly elegant man in bearing 
and breeding that I have ever set eyes on. And 
mother holds to the same opinion of him.” 

Mr. Charles laughed as if greatly relieved, but 
went on with the air of one who has a confession 
to make. 

I began to feel conscious, in spite of my secret 
commands to my color to keep in the background. 

“ Dr. Coke,” he continued, “ was at first much 
scandalized with the concerts that take place in our 
house, as being highly dishonorable to God, and he 
held father a criminal because of his situation in 
the Church of Christ.” 

“And what answered your father?” I asked, 
now so deeply interested that all other subjects 
fled from my thought. 

“ In a letter writ to Uncle John, which he showed 
me, he said, ‘ I am clear, without doubt, that my 
son*s conceit is after the will and order of Provi- 


ALMOST A PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE. 149 

dence.* Dr. Coke changed his opinion when father 
proved to him that the profession of music has 
established Samuel and myself in a safe and honor- 
able way, and that he had never made a show or 
advantage of his sons.” 

‘^That he has not,” I cried warmly; for I have 
often heard it said that were you more ambitious, 
and less stamped, as a family, with a high unworld- 
liness, you and your brother could pile up a fortune 
with your talents.” 

His eye kindled, and his calm countenance was, 
for a minute, filled with honorable pride, as he said, 

“We are in the third generation, Sarnuel and I, 
of a family that in the two generations before ours 
has shown so much vigor of intellect that our skill 
seems a matter of course. And as for riches, my 
grandfather and father both were ever so opposed 
to them as desirable that I have been bred, as it 
were, out of a conceit of them.” 

Mr. Wesley’s principles struck me with unfeigned 
astonishment, and secret mortification, too ; for it 
was with pride in our display of wealth that I had 
heard Marcus say that he had showed him into this 
new parlor, which in point of splendor and costliness 
I do not believe can be surpassed in London. 


150 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


Had I heard any other young man of my ac- 
quaintance thus express himself I would have set 
his remarks down to envy and conceit ; but one 
has only to look at Mr. Wesley’s face to see that 
he means what he says. 

He soon began to strike random chords on the 
spinet, calling forth such dulcet sounds that a little 
bird from the Canary Islands, which has been hung 
in this gold-room, as we call it, began to warble and 
trill and anon blend such tremulous long-drawn 
notes with those of the instrument that I was fairly 
entranced. 

Then he played some of the melodies of Handel, 
of whom he is a great lover, and all at once began 
to sing words of wondrous sweetness and fire, that 
I had never heard, but which filled me with a 
strange, new thought of God, uplifting and tender 
at once. Here are a few lines of this soul-stirring 
hymn : 

“ Jesus, lover of my soul, 

Let me to thy bosom fly, 

While the nearer waters roll, 

While the tempest still is high ! 

Hide me, O my Saviour, hide. 

Till the storm of life is past; 

Safe into the haven guide, 

O receive my soul at last ! 


ALMOST A PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE, 


51 


“ Other refuge have I none ; 

Hangs my helpless soul on thee : 

Leave, O leave me not alone, 

Still support and comfort me : 

All my trust on thee is stayed, 

All my help from thee I bring; 

Cover my defenseless head 
With the shadow of thy wing ! 

“ Plenteous grace with thee is found, 

Grace to cover all my sin : 

Let the healing streams abound : 

Make and keep me pure within. 

Thou of life the fountain art, 

Freely let me take of thee : 

Spring thou up within my heart. 

Rise to all eternity.” 

As those last words rang upon the air in Mr. 
Wesley’s sonorous, melting tones, my eyes were 
brimming with tears, and my soul cried out to the 
mysterious God who has ever seemed to abide in 
Westminster and St. Paul, but never in so change- 
able and small a place as my heart — “ Spring thou 
up within my heart, rise to all eternity.” 

“Who writ that beautiful, majestic hymn, Mr. 
Wesley?” I cried, and the tears all at once rolled 
over, spite of my efforts to the contrary. 

“ Father writ it,” he said. “ It is indeed beau- 


152 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


tiful, and already an inspiration to many. I wot not 
but that, in time, father’s hymns will help the 
world as much as Uncle John’s preaching. But, 
lest you should form a wrong notion of my uncle 
from what I have told you of his opinion concern- 
ing my profession, I am minded to give you a letter 
to read which will afford you a true idea of his 
goodness and that his strictness is not narrowness.” 

I have been able to copy the epistle for you, 
Aunt Dulcia, as Mr. Wesley bade me read it at my 
leisure and return it another day. I surmise he 
wants the ideas it contains, some of which are 
certainly novel, to sink deeper into my memory 
than they could if I had merely glanced the letter 
over in his presence. But here it is, and you can 
judge it for yourself: 

“ My Dear Charles : There is a debt of love 
which I should have paid before now ; but I must 
not delay it any longer. I have long observed you 
with a curious eye; not as a musician, but as an 
immortal spirit that is come forth from God the 
Father of spirits and is returning to him in a few 
moments. But have you well considered this? 
Methinks, if you had, it would be ever uppermost 
in your thoughts. For what trifles, in comparison 


ALMOST A PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE. 153 


of this, are all the shining baubles in the world ! 
God has favored you with many advantages. You 
have health, strength, and a thousand outward 
blessings. And why should you not have all in- 
ward blessings, which God hath purchased for those 
who love him? You are good-humored, mild, and 
harmless ; but, unless you are born again, you can- 
not see the kingdom of God! You are now, as it 
were, on the crisis of your fate; just launching into 
life, and ready to fix your choice, whether you will 
have God or the world for your happiness. You 
cannot avoid being very frequently among elegant 
men and women, that are without God in the 
world ; but, as your business, rather than your 
choice, calls you into the fire, I trust that you will 
not be burnt ; seeing he whom you desire to serve 
is able to deliver you, even out of the burning, fiery 
furnace. I am, dear Charles, your very affectionate 
uncle, John Wesley.” 

Well, I tucked the letter in my pocket, just as 
Mr. Wesley took from his a small gold snuff-box, 
with a miniature of Queen Charlotte set in the lid 
and surrounded by diamonds. 

He bade me examine it, and to help myself, too, 
if I liked. 

To this last invitation I shook my head and, I 


154 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


fear, showed a little disgust, notwithstanding I was 
mindful that our queen is such a lover of snuff. 

“ The queen herself gave it to me,” he said, and 
he again urged upon me to take a pinch, which I 
did — to the great irritation of my nose, but think- 
ing that it would help him to indulge the pleasure 
in my presence if he so wished, although to my 
notion ’tis a mighty queer pleasure, yea, and weak- 
ness, too. 

After punishing myself to be polite, my chagrin 
was great to find him exempt from the fashion 
of snuff-taking, but surprised that I, so fashionable 
a young woman, did not have all the tricks and 
megrims of the court ! 

“ Nay,” I said ; “ for, though I am a loyal subject, 
I am no shadow, even, of a queen, and a foreign- 
born one at that. Besides, snuff-taking, to my mind, 
is a filthy habit which royal gifts could not make 
me forget.” 

“Gifts are of many kinds,” he replied, good- 
naturedly, “and but seldom as well-fitted to the 
receiver as the bestower. However, I prize this 
box as a present from her majesty, and the con- 
tents, too, have a value, because they were mixed by 
Mistress Frances Burney, the famous novelist, one 


ALMOST A PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE. 155 

of whose chief duties at court is to keep Queen 
Charlotte always supplied with snuff.’' 

I thought of the poor, discontented baroness 
who had entertained me when I was at Windsor, 
and ceased to wonder at her repining, if attendance 
on the queen meant such menial servitude as well 
as monotony. 

“ Mr. Wesley,” I said, “ riches are good for 
women of rank, if they are saved thereby from 
such drudgery. I should fancy it was a living death 
for Miss Burney, with her talent and multitude 
of friends, to be buried at Windsor.” 

“Yea, I believe it is. It is only the good doctor’s 
improper ambition and Miss Burney’s filial obe- 
dience that have taken her to court. To Dr. 
Burney ’tis a greater glory for his daughter to be 
maid to her majesty than to have writ the most 
famous novel of the day and to have been boon 
companion with the brightest wits and scholars. 
For ’tis certain Miss Burney could have all she 
wished of the society of such celebrities as Edmund 
Burke, Edward Gibbon, and the great Johnson 
himself.” 

“ Poor, caged bird ! ” I exclaimed, glancing at the 
canary chirping plaintively for attention, and re- 


56 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


membering the lively tone of Mistress Burney’s 
greenish-gray eye — a color father thinks more often 
indicative of talent than any other. 

I never felt more kindly to any man in my life 
than I do toward young Mr. Wesley. When I 
consider how much sought after he is, and how 
modest withal, it is enough to cure me of the airs I 
see well enough that I have, but which, like weeds, 
spring up with the very slightest fostering of my 
vanity. 

But, as good company as Mr. Wesley was, m.y 
pleasure in his society languished ; he stayed and 
stayed, as if he had somewhat to say — all of which I 
knew well, and accordingly extinguished his courage 
as often as it flamed up. He finally quite wore out 
his welcome and my ingenuity. I would fain have 
had him go before the fire that burned under his 
quiet face should break forth uncontrollably. It 
was better for me to have it kept suppressed if I 
was further to enjoy his companionship, and withal 
better for him, for I cannot dispossess myself of the 
thought that he is one of the few born to wed his 
profession. I, with my hot temper and heart so 
clamorous for attention, would make a hateful wife 
for such a man. Methinks, however, it would be 


ALMOST A PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE. 157 

very fine to keep one’s self forever on a pedestal 
of calmness, stirred only by music or church-going ; 
but such exaltation does not belong to me any 
more than the deep passion of love does to Charles 
Wesley. 

If only James Keble had dropped in upon us ! 

He ought to be coming to see me once more 
before his ship sails. I am ashamed to say that 
every dress I don and every ribbon I wear has him 
in view, while all the time my ambition points to 
my Lord Carew — as if he were a sign forever dan- 
gling in the air before my eyes. 

Mr. Wesley at last rose, and he would really go. 
Just then an uproar in the street, made by the pass- 
ing of the king’s guard, drew him to a bay-window, 
deep set, and nearly shut off from the room by 
heavy tapestry in gold and white. I followed him 
thither unwittingly, and lo ! in a minute the crowd 
had surged past, and there we were! shut into a 
bower of seclusion and snugness that gave the 
young man a sudden boldness and ardor that I 
could not resist. 

He seized my hand, which grew cold with pity 
for him and vexation at my own imprudence, and 
would, I am sure, have at once made a declaration 


158 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


of love had not the great door into the hall opened 
with a creak which gave me the chance to thrust 
my head from the curtains and see Marcus’s round 
old face. 

“Do you w'ant me, Marcus?” I asked quickly, 
going out and leaving poor Mr. Wesley alone with 
his sentiment. 

“Yes, Mistress Cicely. Dr. Hunter commanded 
me to bid you come read to him.” 

“Immediately!” I shid ; and Marcus, good old 
soul ! looking neither to the right nor to the left, 
bobbed his gray head and withdrew. 

Mr. Wesley, very pale and sober, but withal most 
manly, parted the curtains and, coming forward, 
begged my pardon for remaining so long.’ Bowing 
in stately style, but kindly, he bade me good-morn- 
ing, and left. 

He has such a delicate soul that he understands, 
I am sure, and will never give either himself or me 
pain by aught more explicit. 


THE HANDEL COMMEMORATION, 


CHAPTER XIV. 


The Handel Commemoration, 



ERE it is the month of May! The weather 


is as merrie as my heart. All the troubles 
that have been a-lurking round my path so long 
seem to have been dissipated. 

I have no enemy in this fair world — unless it be 
those wicked sorcerers. I have many friends. Father 
trusts me as of yore, and is better in health than he 
has been for many weeks. 

James Keble has sailed away and left me glad and 
sorrie both, but chiefly glad ; for he is gone with no 
breach made between us, and loving me so well that 
I know a few weeks or months of absence cannot 
cool his ardor. Perchance, meantime, I can settle 
his fate with my heart and consider also Lord Carew, 
who has been coming to our house much of late, 
and with a purpose none can misconstrue. 

It pleases me well that mother is so vigilant and 
strict with my lord, keeping him ever at a most 
proper distance by her manner and address, and 


11 


i6o 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


thereby also much piquing his curiosity ; her attitude 
is such, though friendly and gracious enough, that if 
Lord Carew were King George himself he would 
have to wonder a bit whether he might have what 
he sought for the asking. 

It was not thus with Charles Wesley. Mother 
never feared to have me alone with him to the very 
uttermost that custom permits. She knows that 
my regard for him is wholly sisterly, and that I have 
no manner of temptation to treat with either levity 
or carelessness this scholarly genius. Music, and 
music alone, is the bond between us, so far as I am 
concerned : though, whenever I think of him, I can- 
not but reflect with sadness on his blighted hopes. 
But I am like Dr. Johnson, in one respect, at least; 
and that is that I prefer, for pure enjoyment, the 
society of a thorough man of the world to the com- 
pany of a scholar. I think, did I marry a great 
scholar, I should fare precisely as did Mistress Mary 
Powell after she was wed to John Milton. Scholar- 
ship in the family is like whipped cream at a dinner. 
One wants but little, and that of the finest quality. 

I could wish that if father is to be knighted it 
could happen now, for if Lord Carew does ask for 
my hand, as I am sure he will, though his delay at 


THE HANDEL COMMEMORATION 


6i 


times awakes my scorn and pride, it would give me 
the greatest gladness to know that our social dispar- 
ity is not so great after all. It matters not, as cus- 
tom is, that we have been of the English gentry for 
twelve generations, and that the Carews are of the 
nobility made under the degenerate Stuarts ; for 
father is but William Hunter, Esquire, and would 
be shut out from much to which this young scion 
of the House of Carew would receive the warmest 
welcome, were it not for his great talent and his 
high favor at court. 

Well, well ! this ambition that ever and anon 
surges in my heart is father’s, for mother has such a 
noble pride and satisfaction in the upright gentle- 
men and gentlewomen who have preceded her that 
her wish never goes beyond a full emulation of their 
virtues and station. Dear mother ! She must have 
been born with her soul at peace, for never, never, 
have I seen her ruffled on her own account. She 
loves far better the satisfactions of the Church and 
home than of society, although I must confess she 
has manifested some excitement over the Handel 
Commemoration, to be celebrated at Westminster 
two days hence, and has been most eager to have 
father secure sightly places for our seats. And she 


i 62 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


has had made for herself a new gown of Antwerp 
satin, much trimmed with lace; and only yesterday 
evening father gave her at dinner, after the butler 
had withdrawn, a new and valuable brooch that he 
playfully told her she was to wear with the new 
dress. This brooch is an oval miniature of father 
himself, set in diamonds of the purest water. Nothing 
could, indeed, be handsomer. To-day a gown came 
home for me, which was an immense surprise. When 
I questioned why I was not fitted for it, as usual, 
(although had I gone to Wetherby’s a dozen times 
it could not become me more in color or fit, for I 
look as if molded into it or the dress upon me, or 
rather as if we were one, as soul and body are one) 
mother only smiled, and asked was I not glad to be 
saved the bother of so many visits to the modiste? 
I assented a bit ruefully, for, in my secret heart, 
nothing pleases me better than now and then at the 
opening of the season to spend a morning with the 
mantua-maker, looking over the latest devices from 
Paris. My robe is beautiful. It is just like a 
cataract of lace, set off here and there by a bunch 
of bright jonquil ribbons. I wish they were pink, 
but jonquil and green are the fashionable colors, and 
fortunately I look well in all shades of yellow. 


THE HANDEL COMMEMORATION, 163 


Since writing the above the secret is out. 

The Handel Commemoration is past ; our new 
dresses are tied up in linen bags and hung in the 
cedar closet, and father is Sir William Hunter! 

At first I felt mightily chagrined to have such a 
secret kept from me ; but when father told me that 
he had withheld it only to save me from disappoint- 
ment, should aught occur at the last minute to alter 
the king’s intention to knight him on the occasion 
of the musical celebration, I allowed myself to be 
pacified ; and especially when I remembered that I 
never could have been so calm as mother, or have 
enjoyed the music one whit, with so much that was 
personal to anticipate. 

I suppose you will read an account of it in the 
London papers, which father has forwarded to you, 
long before my story reaches you. But the public 
rehearsal is never like the private one ; so prepare 
for as much detail as were I the illustrious Pepys 
and my theme the Coronation of Charles H. 

We went to Westminster in all the state our 
equipages, livery, and horses would permit, and 
of the many fine carriages drawn up before the 
Abbey I think there was none to outshine ours. 

It was an august spectacle to behold the tiers 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


164 

upon tiers of scaffolding reaching far up along the 
nave and transept, the vast pillars standing out 
gray and venerable, the sculptured dead below as 
serene as if the usual solemn stillness reigned — the 
statues of warriors, statesmen, and nobles soaring 
in magnificent whiteness and dignity; the scaffold- 
ing coverings of blue and scarlet swaying like flags 
from remote heights and distances, as a draught 
swept through the immense interior. 

Words cannot picture the splendor of the choir, 
flaming with velvet, tapestry, and what not of 
gorgeous texture and color ; or of the platform fac- 
ing the choir, filled with countless rows of seats for 
the mighty orchestra and chorus of five hundred 
and twenty-five performers ; or of the triumphant 
strains of music swelling from instruments and voices 
when the royal family swept up the nave, ascended 
into the choir, and stood for a few minutes facing 
the sea of faces that looked down upon them so 
magnificently costumed that it seemed as if all the 
jewels of the world must have been searched for the 
brightest and the best. 

You should have seen how admirably placed 
mother and I were, in stalls beside those of the 
nobility, so that we were to all intents and purposes 


THE HANDEL COMMEMORATION, 165 


a part of them, and where we could behold every 
movement King George made, and where we were 
in full sight, and hearing as well, of the musicians. 

Father left us to go elsewhere, as he said. I re- 
member I noticed how proud and pale he looked, 
a kind of veiled triumph in his eye, as he bade us 
remain where we were till he came for us. His last 
gaze lingered on mother, who made me think of a tall 
arum lily, she was so white and majestic. 

Father’s breast glistened with the various medals 
and honors that had been conferred on him by med- 
ical societies of both France and England. He 
wore, also, a star presented to him by the Emperor 
of Austria, for the staunch support he had given 
Lady Mary Wortley Montague, when nearly all 
London turned against her because she had intro- 
duced vaccination into England. He was, indeed, 
a noble, manly-appearing Englishman, as he went 
down the transept, and disappeared into one of the 
chapels at the right of the choir. 

Finally the whole great interior grew still, and 
then began the performance of Handel’s Messiah, 
an oratorio for grandeur and pathos unparalleled 
by any thing I have ever heard, and rendered with 
magnificence and solemnity befitting the presence 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


i66 

of their majesties and the memory of the composer. 
I held my breath with awe and delight over the 
exquisite instrumentation of the pastoral symphony, 
and then, when a voice of thrilling power lingered 
on the words, “ He shall feed his flock like a shep- 
herd,” I felt far away in the country, separated from 
kings, nobles, and the people, and alone, as if on a 
wide meadow — alone with God. 

But when, after a second magnificent burst of 
sound, a contralto voice of wondrous scope and feel- 
ing chanted, “ He was despised and rejected of 
men,” it was as if a black cloud had obscured my 
peaceful meadow, and upon it, tossed by bitter 
winds and searching rains, was the Shepherd of 
mankind. All at once I covered up my face and 
wept. I sat listening, finally, subdued and tearful, 
till a voice finer than any I had yet heard, and as 
triumphant and pure as that of an angel, sang with 
melting sweetness, “ I know that my Redeemer 
liveth ! ” 

O, how small seemed my paltry ambitions ! how 
overhanging and heavy the Abbey arches ! how fad- 
ing the splendor of kings and queens ! how vision- 
ary aught but the things of eternity ! 

I looked up. There, through a vista made by a 


THE HANDEL COMMEMORATION. 167 

hundred heads, I saw the holy face of the Rev- 
erend Mr. John Wesley, radiant with devotion and 
ecstasy, and beside him the hyinnist, his brother, 
with a rapt expression as if he were already trans- 
ported to heaven, and behind them the organist 
and composer, Charles Wesley, junior, whose gentle, 
placid countenance, under the influence of his favor- 
ite, Handel, had taken on a dignity and gravity that 
made him in his slenderness and fairness look like 
pictures I have seen of John Milton. 

Never before had my heart and my ears been 
more satisfied than in those few minutes when the 
last strains of the Alleluia chorus were being ren- 
dered. I felt so full — as if I could not contain an- 
other hour of such soul-stirring music. A sudden 
desire seized me to reach home and in the quiet of 
my room meditate on the themes and variations 
that, together with the presence of so many delighted 
thousands, had wrought me to a pitch of ecstatic 
enjoyment well-nigh unbearable. 

All at once I became conscious of an august still- 
ness. At that moment dear mother gently laid 
her hand on mine. I looked up. I saw father and 
one other whom I did not know ascend into the 
choir. Father knelt before the king. A sudden 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


1 63 

ringing stopped my ears. I saw the king touch 
father’s head. All at once, as my beloved parent 
rose, I heard the words, “ Sir William Hunter! ” 

I looked at mother. A bright red spot glowed 
on either cheek and her eyes shone. Otherwise 
she was as calm as usual. 

I could have clapped my hands, or shouted, or run 
hither and thither; but, while my head became all 
at once as clear as a bell, my feet changed to lead 
and ice. 

Presently a great hum of voices arose. The royal 
party began slowly to descend into the great central 
aisle of the nave. I saw the long trains of the 
queen and princesses flash across the bit of open 
space before me. I realized the motionless dignity 
of the lords and ladies at my left. 

Then, all at once, there was great confusion, 
every body going in this direction and that. 

Mother and I stood still, waiting for father, 
mother receiving, with the sweetest composure and 
affability, the congratulations of friends as they 
streamed past us. 

We were not far from the east entrance. As the 
crowds began to grow thinner I saw through the 
open doors a bit of green park, and the carriages 


THE HANDEL COMMEMORATION. 169 


departing one after another. Then I awoke to a 
full, proud sense of what had happened. 

Father came not long after. He said nothing, 
but kissed us both. Then we too went out. 

The day was a wonderful one. No pall of fog 
and smoke hung over the city. The sunlight 
touched the spires of the Parliament House. It 
flickered on the grass around the Lady Margaret 
Chapel. A soft breeze blew, and the air near the 
Abbey was fragrant with the perfume of flowers. 

We entered our open carriage, which was drawn 
by four horses. Four of our men on dappled iron 
grays closed in behind us, and away we sped — Sir 
William and Lady Hunter and their daughter 
Cicely ! 

We had no sooner reached home and settled our- 
selves in mother’s room, my parents doing their 
best to satisfy my devouring curiosity about the 
honor recently conferred, when Marcus came to an- 
nounce Mr. Wesley. 

Father at once went to meet him, but soon re- 
turned to tell mother that our reverend friend had 
come to say that he desired to place himself under 
father’s hands again. 

Father prefers to have a man on whose life so 


170 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


much depends, and for whom he entertains so high 
a regard, beneath his own roof and vigilance until a 
perfect cure shall be effected; for Mr. Wesley has a 
deep, tearing cough, and is very weak and heavy 
and in a fever. 

It is a sore trial to him to be incapacitated now, 
for he desires greatly to go to Ireland. However, 
he has yielded to advice, and has consented to 
withdraw from all ministerial effort for a fortnight. 

Mother at once fell in with father’s plan and 
ordered the south-east chamber gotten ready. This 
is a pet room with us all. She begged father to 
urge his honored reverence come immediately. 

We are in the greatest joy over our guest, for so 
Mr. Wesley will be in every sense. To look for- 
ward for two or three weeks to constant compan- 
ionship with one at once so learned, genial, and 
good, is no small pleasure. When I think that he 
has preached in German, French, and Spanish, in 
all of which tongues he is learned, I wonder that I 
ever open my mouth before him. ' 

Mother has ordered all manner of dainties for the 
table, although conscious that Mr. Wesley is so ab- 
stemious. She says, however, that such highly 
temperate people are ofttimes as fastidious in their 


THE HANDEL COMMEMORATION. 


171 


appetites as gourmands, so that she weens it fit to 
provide every possible variety of food. 

Mr. Wesley has asked to have family prayers in 
his room, should he not be well enough to leave it, 
and hopes to conduct them much of the time. 

As this is the day of his arrival I will stop writing, 
for it is high time I went to the drawing-room to 
be ready with mother to meet him when he comes 
down to dinner ; for do so he will. 


72 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


CHAPTER XV. 

The Methodists. 

t WE pass our time so delectably since Mr. 

Wesley has come ! There is an atmosphere of 
deep living, as father puts it, throughout the house. 
Mother’s quiet nature is wonderfully quickened. 
Her eyes and cheeks have a life and light almost 
holy. She says that she feels as if she were under 
sanctuary influences all the time. She came to my 
room last evening, after I was in bed, and sat down 
beside my couch, taking my hand between her own 
two soft palms, and said she felt she owed it to Mr. 
Wesley to tell me that she withdrew all her objec- 
tions to Methodism, especially to the morning and 
field-meetings, and such like demonstrations, which 
she has hitherto esteemed of doubtful value, and 
certainly fit only for a vagrant population. 

Somehow, dear Cicely,” she went on, her clear 
voice slightly tremulous, ‘‘the world seems so large, 
and we so small, after I have been a while with this 
sainted man. 



THE METHODISTS. 


r73 


“‘He said to me when I admitted that the spirit 
of his teachings is godly, but the manner of them, 
excusing his presence, unseemly and not in ac- 
cordance with the decorum of our stately Church : 

“ ‘ Nay, nay, Lady Hunter ; the world is my par- 
ish, and, in the name of Christ, I busy myself in 
calling not the righteous, but sinners,^to repentance. 
Where the sinners are there must I go, an they 
will not come to me. I must feed them with the 
milk of the word, and the strong meat after. 
Christ, and salvation through him, existed when 
the temple was in ruins. Pentecostal fire fell direct 
from heaven upon the heads of chosen teachers, 
and came not by the laying on of hands. 

“ ‘ Did I please my own susceptibilities,’ he con- 
tinued, ‘ for the beautiful in devotional services, 
which is right seemly and natural, and an uncon- 
scious expression for those who, from station, 
wealth, or learning, live daily in the beautiful, I 
would never worship except in temples made either 
by God or human genius, and according to the 
forms of our Church ceremonial. 

** ‘ Lady Hunter,’ he added, when I sat still, hav- 
ing really naught to say, ‘ fancy the diminutiveness 
of this island on which we live compared with the 


W4 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


whole world. Think of Christ’s promise that his 
kingdom, though as a grain of mustard-seed in the 
beginning, should spread mightily and overshadow 
and redeem the world. Is it even in accordance 
with the historic harmony of Christianity to sup- 
pose that after eighteen hundred years of the shin- 
ing of his light into our hearts, and after the glori- 
ous record of saints and martyrs — whose bloody 
track began in Jerusalem and has extended even 
to the provinces of the New World — is it probable, 
nay, possible, that the one true way of worship for 
the elect should be that of a small body of worship- 
ers in England under a State protection that began 
with the immoral propensities of Henry VIII? ’ 

“ I was astonished, daughter, to angry silence at 
first, and could not trust myself to reply lest I 
should show discourtesy as a hostess. I was 
shocked at Mr. Wesley’s extreme plainness be- 
neath the roof of so strict a Churchwoman as I 
pride myself on being. 

“ He looked steadfastly at me, though, from those 
keen bright eyes of his, and continued most gently : 

“‘Think not, dear Lady Hunter, that I speak 
these truths carelessly, or as one who recognizes 
himself without the pale of the Church — for I am 


THE METHODISTS, 


175 


determined to live and die within our beautiful 
Church — but as one who sees that her borders 
must be enlarged, her forms varied, and the life of 
her members, which is the heart of all ecclesiasti- 
cism, made more spiritual. Our beloved Church is 
become a vast moneyed corporation ; its livings are 
often given away by rich sinners to the unconverted ; 
its pulpits are frequently occupied by men who 
preach not their own sermons — having neither wit 
nor piety enough to compose them — but the pro- 
duction of poor scribblers who live in garrets and 
write sermons by the yard for bread and butter. It 
is for the correction of such abuses, which, thank 
God, are not universal, that I am become a mark of 
derision. It is because when I believe I see signal 
evidences of holiness in a man, combined with a 
burning desire to save sinners, I encourage him to 
begin at once to tell what God hath done for him, 
that I am condemned. 

“ ‘ But does not Christ say, “ By their works ye 
shall know them?’’ By the zeal of Methodists the 
Establishment has been quickened ; the impulse of 
Methodism has given birth to a missionary spirit 
the like of which has not been seen since Paul an- 
swered that heaven-sent cry, Come over into Mace- 
2 


176 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


donia and help us.” To be a good Methodist is to 
be a good citizen. It has been the enforcement of 
the Toleration Act to the letter, making Church 
people declare themselves dissenters, in order to 
obtain licenses for their chapels, that has taken 
hundreds out of the Church of England ; a most 
pitiable blunder on the part of English statesmen.’ ” 

“What is the Toleration Act, mother?” I broke 
in with ; for all that she said was giving me such a 
new conception of Mr. Wesley, and the ignomini- 
ous term Methodism, that I wanted to learn all I 
could while mother was in a talking mood. 

“ The Toleration Act, daughter, takes us back to 
the time of James II., during whose reign Church- 
men and Nonconformists were temporarily united 
in trying to suppress the growing strength of 
Catholicism under the Stuarts. As soon, however, 
as King James fell this united feeling ceased, and 
then the Presbyterian Church was established in 
Scotland. Some Church people were for having 
the Prayer Book modified, so that dissenters would 
return to the Established Church, and for this pur- 
pose a bill called the Comprehension Bill was intro- 
duced into Parliament and was supported by King 
William III. But the bill failed. The king next 


THE METHODISTS. 


177 


attempted to give dissenters the same civil equality 
with Churchmen ; but this effort also failed. 

“ Public feeling in favor of the dissenters at 
length became so strong, however, and they were 
so very numerous, that in 1689 the Toleration Act 
was at last passed. This act established complete 
freedom of worship, but also laid a tax on dissenters 
for the licensing of their chapels. 

“ Now, Mr. Wesley says that the failure of the 
Church to modify the Prayer Book, and make the 
Church broad enough to admit the Nonconformists 
who are in doctrine perfectly orthodox, gave our be- 
loved Establishment a blow from which it will never 
recover. It lost thereby half its strength. New re- 
ligious bodies, which since then have come into 
existence, have usually been in favor of lines of 
progress which the Church has almost uniformly 
opposed. 

“ When I inquired of your father whether Mr. 
Wesley were not biased, because of the contumely 
he has sustained, he said, ‘ Alas ! no, wife. Our 
learned friend has history on his side.’ ” 

“ But, mother,” I cried, if the Toleration Act 
were passed in 1689 I should think its great age 
would have fulfilled its efficacy.” 


178 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


“ And so it should,” she said, bitterly; but they 
have pushed the law of late with such persecution 
that, though it was originally made only for those 
who scrupled to attend the service and sacrament 
of the Church, and in order to license the chapels of 
dissenters, unwise statesmen, who are also Church- 
men, declare that Methodists, by the very acts of 
holding prayer-meetings and having preaching in 
houses not consecrated to divine worship according 
to the prescribed forms of the Church, are dissent- 
ers. Thus thousands of godly persons, mostly in 
humble circumstances, while still Churchmen, are 
taxed as dissenters, to enrich the revenues, under 
cover of the Conventicle Act. They have appealed 
in vain for redress. 

“ Mr. Wesley was so incensed when this blow 
was aimed against the poor — for the poor he calls 
God’s especial people — that he wrote a letter to 
one of the bishops most active in this movement, 
which he has given me to read.” 

“ Nancy,” said mother, turning to my new maid, 
whose modest decorum could scarce restrain her 
from putting in a word now and then — for she 
is a Methodist — “ Nancy, go to my chamber and 
fetch a letter you will find placed within my Bible 


THE METHODISTS. 


179 


on the prie-dieu by my east window.” Mother 
ever prays with her face toward the east, in antic- 
ipation of our Lord’s second coming from that 
quarter. 

Nancy soon returned with the letter, which is a 
copy of the one sent to the bishop. Before 
mother read it I asked to have the “ Conventicle 
Act ” explained. I was beginning, if the truth were 
told, to feel much ashamed of my ignorance in mat- 
ters pertaining so closely to the Church. 

“ The Conventicle Act,” said mother, “was passed 
in 1664, under Charles II., and was even older than 
the Toleration Act, you see. It punished by fine, 
imprisonment, and transportation all meetings of 
more than five persons for any religious worship 
but that of the Common Prayer. I must admit, 
daughter, that, as I have reviewed these facts of 
history for myself since my conversation with Mr. 
Wesley, I have felt as if the true Church has always 
been, and ever must be, only in the hearts of humble, 
devout Christians, and not according to any pre- 
scribed forms whatsoever; no matter how wise their 
founders may be or however suitable such forms 
may prove for public worship. They are appro- 
priate for the gathering of God’s people together ; 


8o 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


but they should, therefore, ever be varied accord- 
ing to the scriptural needs of congregations. 

Well, I have been a long time, in coming to the 
letter. Here it is: 

“ ‘ My Lord : I am a dying man, having already 
one foot in the grave. Humanly speaking, I can- 
not long creep upon the earth, being now nearer 
ninety than eighty years of age. But I cannot die 
in peace before I have discharged this office of 
Christian love to your lordship. I write without 
ceremony, as neither hoping nor fearing any thing 
from your lordship or from any man living. And 
I ask, in the name and in the presence of Him to 
whom both you and I are shortly to give an ac- 
count, why do you trouble those that are quiet in 
the land — those that fear God and work righteous- 
ness? Does your lordship know what the Meth- 
odists are ? That many thousands of them are 
zealous members of the Church of England, and 
strongly attached, not only to his majesty, but to 
his present ministry? Why should your lordship, 
setting religion out of the question, throwaway such 
a body of respectable friends ? Is it for their re- 
ligious sentiments ? Alas ! my lord, do as you would 
be done to. You are a man of sense ; you are a 


THE METHODISTS. 


i8i 

man of learning ; nay, I verily believe (what is of 
infinitely more value) you are a man of piety. Then 
think and let think. I pray God to bless you with 
the choicest of his blessings.’ ” 

Mother folded the epistle thoughtfully, and, after 
sitting a few minutes in silence, kissed me and left 
me. I fell into a deep study. 

Although but a few short months had sped into 
the past since I had stopped going to school, so 
much had happened, and I had seen so much and 
met so many people of quality and learning, as well 
as a few of unexampled piety, that it was just as if I 
had ascended from the cellar to the house-top. I 
was another girl : giddier, but older ; wiser, but with 
a far livelier sense of my ignorance. 

I fell into a sweet sleep soon after mother left, and 
this pleasant state so absorbed me that I neither 
dreamed nor stirred till Nancy awoke me. 

It was already late, so I hastened my dressing and 
hied down stairs, fearing that breakfast had begun, 
and, in case Mr. Wesley were well enough to be 
present, that I had lost a goodly slice of his conver- 
sation. 

He was not down ; neither was mother there. 
Father stood at the side-board carving himself a 


j 82 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


piece of ham, and eating with more haste thereafter 
than is his wont. I believe every one eats fast if he 
has to take a meal alone. 

I sat down in my own place, asking, “ Where is 
mother? ” 

“ Gone out to buy a dressing-gown for Mr. Wesley, 
who is far from well ; very far. He seems so full of 
inflammation that he will have to be blooded, if I 
mistake not his symptoms ; and as he is so spare a 
man in his habit he will feel greatly reduced for a 
few days. He has begged me, daughter Cicely, to 
allow you to sit with him a spell this afternoon, to 
which I did of course consent, but with .the con- 

• f • 

dition that you should withdraw in an* ho|rp; for he 
is so much of a spirit and so little of a body that I 
fear he will vanish out of the world from under my 
roof unless we are most careful.” 

“ Surely, father,” I said, half fearful of going to 
see our guest, much as I coveted the privilege in 
some ways, “ if you truly think there is danger of 
his giving up the ghost in my presence, I prefer to 
wait till he be stronger.” 

“ Nay, daughter, ’tis not so bad as that ; but I 
want you in your youth to observe the caution of 
age in your care of the sick ; that is all ! ” 


THE METHODISTS, 


183 


An hour thereafter mother came back with a great 
package, which Marcus carried to her room. 

I followed her up stairs, curious to see what kind 
of gown Mr. Wesley would order; for I was sure 
that while it would be neat it would also be a mar- 
vel of simplicity. 

What was my amazement, therefore, when she 
took the coverings from it with a certain fond- 
ness and pride, and held it up to better observe 
it, to behold one of solid black velvet that fell from 
her grasp in rich, thick folds. The lining was of 
white silk, and the collar and sleeves were enriched 
with a fall ofcsoft white lace. 


“•Whafej^S^vagance, mother, for a saint!” 

“ Mr. Wesley can well afford such a gown,” she 
replied, demurely. 

“ Nay, but, ” I exclaimed, “ I have heard so 
many marvelous stories of his self-denial ; and for 
sumptuousness of apparel what could be finer or 
costlier than this? ’Tis fit for the king himself.” 

“Verily, Cicely, that is why I bought it. The 
gown is father’s gift to Mr. Wesley ; and he bade 
me, over and over, see to it that it was soft, warm, 
and elegant, and to spare no expense. Will he not 
look like a bishop or archbishop in it ? ” she con- 


1 84 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


tinued ; “ and truly I do believe had he been less 
mindful of the poor, the simple, and the sinful he 
would have been made Archbishop of York or Can- 
terbury; what is far better, he is a lineal descend- 
ant, by the gift of the Hol}^ Spirit, of the Prince of 
Peace, after the order of Melchisedec.” 

“ Are you turning Methodist, mother ? I asked, 
softly and wonderingly. 

She started and looked a bit frightened, then said, 
solemnly: 

“ I am seeking new light. Mr. Wesley’s teach- 
ings and admonitions are like the voice of one cry- 
ing in the wilderness of my soul, ‘Prepare ye the 
way of the Lord.’ Whatever they make of me, or 
whithersoever they lead me, daughter, I truly be- 
lieve they will mean my growth in grace.” 

I stood transfixed ; for mother to me had always 
meant the attainment of perfect godliness. Truly, 
never in my whole life had I heard her say any 
thing or seen her do any thing on which I could lay 
the finger of reproach. If she has still to grow in 
grace, whispered my heart, where indeed am I ? 

I began to be afraid of Mr. Wesley, as though he 
were a messenger direct from heaven. ’Tis a very 
different thing to sit and muse in one’s room, with 


THE METHODISTS. 


85 


the belongings the same that they always are, on 
unseen and eternal things, or to walk out-of-doors 
with the sky and trees and cattle making the same 
sweet, changeless picture, and let the heart ascend 
in a little prayer of thanksgiving, to what it is to be 
in the very presence of possible death, and of old age 
so awful in its reverence and sanctity that you feel 
all at once like a great sinner, and, however much 
your spirit has crept toward God, as if, after all, you 
had not found out a single thing about him. 

All that day I went about the house in such a still 
way, though mother was bright and talkative and 
with the flush on her cheek that never comes ex- 
cept when she is very happy. 

Father came to us shortly after noon to say that 
he had taken fifty ounces of blood from his patient, 
and had also put Mr. Wesley through a blistering 
and other discipline, all of which had been borne 
with fortitude and a marvelous reserve of energy. 

“ The man is all sinew and nervous force,” con- 
tinued father, “ and I believe will be good for sev- 
eral years more of life after recuperating. I shall 
give him a course of James's Powders, which are a 
truly sovereign remedy for worn-out powers, for, 
though Mr. Wesley’s will leads him to put forth a 


l86 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


great show of vitality, his long journeys, his fever- 
ish condition, and this baleful cough indicate how 
much he needs rest.” 

“ Father, dear,” I said, looking up into his pale, 
earnest face, “when will you take rest? You be- 
gin to look well-nigh as ill as you did that day we 
went to Windsor.” 

“ All in good time, daughter,” he said, cheerily. 
“ Let me first cure Mr. Wesley, and finish the 
autumn course of lectures, and then, God willing, 
mother and you and I will go over to Paris for the 
winter.” 

“Father!” I cried, “truly?” 

“ Truly. I want it as much as you can. And 
now, child, go put on the white dress I love to see 
you in, and then proceed to Mr. Wesley’s apart- 
ments, where you will find me also when you come.” 

It was with no feeling of vanity that I donned the 
pretty gown that father likes, for my mind was now 
agitated with the prospect of travel and anon stirred 
with troubled, yet pleasing, anticipations of this in- 
terview. I did think it strange that any one at all 
ill could find consolation in the company of a young 
girl. 

When I was ready, I started, though very slowly, 


THE METHODISTS, iSy 

to traverse the long gallery leading to the south- 
east wing, where Mr. Wesley’s rooms are. 

The sitting-room is a mighty pretty one, and, 
though very handsome, has a fine air of elegant 
simplicity. The windows are small low casements 
high up in the wall, yet letting in through their 
diamond panes manifold bars of afternoon light, 
w'hich flicker athwart the polished floor and often 
pale the glow in the burning logs upon the hearth. 

Father opened the door to my knock. 

Before the hearth sat Mr. Wesley, a picture of 
venerable age and beauty. His long snowy locks 
met the lace about his throat. His thin and hand- 
some hands rested on the arms of his chair and 
looked carven out of ivory. His bright eyes were 
large and patient and tired, as if he had undergone 
great pain. Around his mouth hovered the sweet- 
est smile, alluring me as though he were a veritable 
angel. 

I wondered at the foolish fear that had seized me 
when out of his sight, and, why, I know not, as I ap- 
proached him an impulse seized me to kneel beside 
him and bend my head for a blessing. 

He pronounced a benediction that I had often 
heard in church unmoved ; but, with that saintly 


i38 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


hand on my head, how could I do otherwise than 
thrill with awe as he said in a tremulous, halting 
voice, but as sweet as the bells of Westminster: 

“ The peace of God which passeth all understand- 
ing shall keep your heart and mind in Christ Jesus 
our Lord.” 

When I rose, he drew me to him and kissed me. 

I took a chair a little removed, and father and he 
apparently continued a conversation that my en- 
trance had interrupted, on the witness of the Spirit. 

Father leaned against the mantel. The fire- 
light touched his figure so that it was etched in 
somber dignity upon the gloom, darkening that part 
of the room where he stood. 

Mr. Wesley outspread his hands in describing 
what he called a divine effluence that pervaded the 
inner consciousness to such an extent that he could 
liken it to nothing else but the sun on a summer 
morning rising from a sea of mist and glorifying 
ocean and sky with the colors of the rainbow. 

Father has a rare engraving — Sir Joshua gave 
him — of a famous painting in Milan of the Lord’s 
Supper, in which the Christ looks so beatific that I 
often gaze on it till my eyes swim in tears. I thought 
of that picture. 


THE METHODISTS, 


189 


All at once, in calm, insinuating tones, most mu- 
sical, still with hands outspread, Mr. Wesley re- 
peated : 

“Come, Holy Spirit, heavenly Dove, 

With all thy quick’ning powers; 

Kindle a flame of sacred love 
In these cold hearts of ours.” 

His voice thrilled my very soul. Can this be 
religion.^ ” I asked myself. How easy, under such a 
benign influence as certainly actuates this aged man, 
to do hard things ! How possible to be patient ! 
How impossible to be otherwise than pure in heart 
— which I am not ; for O, such fugitive, wicked 
thoughts are ever flitting athwart my brain, dark- 
ening the good when I am otherwise bent upon its 
performance ! 

However, I said nothing, but became a very epit- 
ome of outward stillness, although my heart knocked 
so against my ribs that it truly seemed as if it 
would find an exit. 

I glanced at father. His eyes were bent in deep 
thought. His furrowed brow was majestic in its 
thoughtfulness. 

It was, indeed, a solemn moment for us all. 

I looked again at Mr. Wesley. His eye caught 


190 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


mine. Such an illuminating smile mantled his 
•countenance, such a sweet dignity beamed in his 
whole expression, that then and there faith in him 
awoke in me a greater faith in God. 

“ It must be most true,” I said to myself, “ since 
he is so glorified.” 

“ My friend,” suddenly said father, drawing him- 
self up to his greatest height, “ tell me, by the in- 
tegrity of your own soul, have you personally had 
this witness ? Have you, not once, but repeatedly, 
felt this kindling flame of which you speak Do 
you solemnly believe that this glow of ecstasy is 
not the excitation of your own emotions, but a 
power from above filling you, a supernatural power, 
— yea, I will even say the power of God : God 
speaking directly to you in heavenly comfort?” 

Weak as he was, Mr. Wesley sprang to his feet. 
A holy energy seemed to emanate from his frame. 
Verily, it did appear to me at that moment that 
the fetters of his flesh would burst asunder and 
manifest an angel of revelation. 

He uttered a kind of credo in a series of short 
exclamations which are stamped forever on my 
memory. 

I have had this witness. The Spirit has wit- 


THE METHODISTS, 


191 

nessed with my spirit not onccy but innumerable 
times, kindling in me a joy that has nothing earthly 
in it. I do most solemnly believe that the Spirit wit- 
nessing with my spirit is none other than the invis- 
ible but present majesty of the most high God, 
my King, my Father, my Comforter — my Re- 
deemer ! ” 

Never, never can I forget the ringing conviction 
in his tones, as he enumerated names so endearing 
to every longing, aspiring heart. 

Father gazed steadfastly at him, as Stephen, I 
think, must have gazed into the very heavens when 
they were opened. He said in a voice both of en- 
treaty and command, “ Then pray for me, that I 
may receive light.” 

“ Let us pray,” said Mr. Wesley. 

As I rose I noticed mother leaning against one 
of the windows, sobbing violently. 

I stole to her side and we knelt together. 

That holy voice, tremulous with mingled weak- 
ness and supplication, poured forth such a beseech- 
ing cry for the divine Presence, and such a flood of 
thankful ascription for mercies already vouchsafed, 
that I became, imbued with an expectancy unlike 

any thing I had ever known. ' • . .• 

13 


192 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


A vast company of the unseen appeared to me 
to fill the room, though my eyes were closed. 

Mother’s hand thrilled me with a warm sympathy 
nearer than any words her dear lips had ever spoken. 
I put my arms around her while still kneeling, and 
laid my head on her shoulder. But, although I did 
so and was so glad to be near her, I felt as if a vast 
peace embraced us both — as if we were one being 
leaning on a higher Power. 

How long Mr. Wesley prayed I know not, but 
suddenly, as it seemed to me, I heard him again 
saying : 

“ The peace of God which passeth all understand- 
ing shall keep your heart and mind in Christ Jesus 
our Lord.” 

I rose. I walked over to Mr. Wesley and, stand- 
ing before him, I said : 

His peace is now in my heart.” 

Father folded me in his arms, murmuring, “ My 
precious Cicely ! My lamb ! God grant that this 
peace may come to mother and me in a high tide.” 

And then mother said, a smile hovering about 
her sweet mouth, “ If I mistake not, husband, the 
tide is coming in for us. It is quite past the turn- 
ing with me.” 


THE METHODISTS. 


193 


Bless the Lord ! ” cried Mr. Wesley. Then, his 
voice a little husky, he added, “ Pray without ceas- 
ing. Be instant in season and out of season.” 

Father all at once appeared to realize that he had 
forgotten his patient as such, and instantly he bade 
mother and me withdraw. We did not see him 
again till late that night. Mother and I had passed 
most of the interval in prayer and conversation. 

When father did join us I knewat once thathis mind 
was at rest, as mine is. He came right to mother, 
and, kissing her, while he folded his arms about me 
as I sprang to his side, he said, “ As for me and my 
house, we will serve the Lord. That is our first 
and last concern henceforth. Is it not, wife ? ” 

Mother laid her cheek on the hand she held and 
whispered, “Yes.” 

We sat a long time in willing silence, which I was 
the first to break. 

“ Do you not think, father, that God sent Mr. 
Wesley here ? ” 

“ Certainly, daughter. But I have left him asleep, 
and, though he is doing well, ’tis our solemn duty 
for the sake of others whom he may yet lead to the 
light, as well as for his own dear sake, to do all in 
our power to give him a speedy recovery. So I 


194 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 

must go back and watch beside him for an hour or 
two.” 

“ It shall be my privilege to spend the night,” 
said mother, “in his sitting-room, in order to attend 
to any want.” 

“ Nay, that is not necessary,” said father, smil- 
ing affectionately. “ Let Marcus have the night- 
watch, and you shall have the day.” 

Soon after, the whole household, except father 
and Marcus, were in a sound sleep. As for myself, 
I know, after a short prayer, which I felt I could 
sing, I glided into the sweetest slumber, from which 
only the broad daylight, falling in a sunbeam across 
my very eyes, awoke me. 


MY LORD CARE IV, 


195 



CHAPTER XVI. 

My Lord Carew. 

E had already breakfasted and had prayers 
the next morning, and I was about to sit 
down to arduous practice on my violin, when none 
other than my Lord Carew was announced. 

Mother looked a trifle serious, but remarked with 
composure : 

“ You may receive him alone, daughter, but say 
that I will join you presently.” 

Some way, without aught being said, I knew that 
Lord Carew had come to ask for my hand, and that 
he must, therefore, have already spoken to father. 

I was amazed to find that, without any ado with 
myself, I had an answer ready, for certainly I had 
dilly-dallied between an ambition for his title and 
estates and James Keble’s manliness and love till I 
was utterly tired out with the thought of either. 

I could not help remembering that the morrow 
w'ould be my seventeenth birthday, and I said 
stoutly to my heart, fluttering till it well-nigh choked 


196 CICELY'S CHOICE. 

me, “ ’Tis well to have this matter settled before an- 
other year begins.” 

I think certain scales of worldliness and ambition 
must have fallen from my eyes, for as I entered the 
drawing-room and Lord Carew advanced to meet 
me, with much graciousness and gallantry, forsooth, 
but with overmuch assurance, I regarded him stead- 
fastly, though my knees knocked, and I thought, 

“You area tonnish young man, indeed, but not 
James Keble.” 

He has lived abroad so much, moreover, that he 
appeared to me less an Englishman than ever this 
day, for he was habited in the very latest French 
style. He looked so overforeign that I felt farther 
removed from him than Dover is from Calais. 

I put on my bravest manner, and was as snug and 
reserved as prudence and modesty demanded. 

He has a kind of languid nonchalance mightily 
becoming to him, but never soul-stirring to me in a 
lover, and on this occasion he seemed clothed in it 
from head to foot, warning me that I was either 
mistaken in his intentions or that he had a most 
complacent belief in his success. 

I sat down, and he followed suit — a wee bit too 
near — but I held myself up as straight as though 


MV LORD CAREW, 


197 


I did wear the corsage and ruff of Queen Elizabeth, 
and began a quick conversation — too much on my 
side, it is true, but as full of questions as a plum- 
cake of raisins, and with not a ray of light on the 
score of sentiment. 

There is no manner of learning in Lord Carew, 
but he is highly agreeable, and a true ladies' man, 
and therefore that stillness and stupor which oft 
attack me in the presence of dullness did not once 
seize me. 

But my lord began to make long and ominous 
pauses. I fear I was sinful to enjoy a growing dis- 
composure in him, as he wakened no conscious awk- 
wardness in me. 

I have, though, so often heard him reckoned one 
of the flashers of London, for style, audacity, and 
expenditure, that I considered it but right, when 
he hesitated over taking Dr. William Hunter’s 
daughter to wife and then speedily grew ardent to 
Sir William Hunter’s daughter, that he should suffer 
a spell of embarrassment. 

All things must have an end. 

Mother did not come. 

I saw that my lord would have it out, do what I 
could to discourage him, and as he is obtuse in fine 


198 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


thoughts and the soul of courtesy, I knew that he 
never could appreciate, as did Mr. Charles Wesley, 
a dismissal that was never spoken. 

So it came about that he asked me out and out 
to be his wife as glibly as though he were buying 
me ; and, though I would fain have stopped him be- 
fore he said overmuch, I could not for very indig- 
nation over the manner of his proposition. I had, 
too, a most lively sense of shame that I could ever 
have turned my most secret thoughts to such a 
specimen of a lover, and felt well and deservingly 
punished. 

At length he ceased, and fixed his eyes on me as 
if all were settled. 

“ My Lord Carew,” I said, after a pause, in which 
I had rallied my courage and my temper enough 
for words, “ I thank you for the honor of your 
proposal, though not as politely made, considering 
the long line of your chivalrous ancestors, as I 
could desire ; but my answer must be — No ! ” 

He sprang to his feet in amazement and anger, for 
the rebuff aroused a conceit which I am sure is 
greater than any love he has yet felt. 

“ Why, then. Mistress Hunter, have you permit- 
ted my addresses, if you have but No for answer ? 


MV LORD. CARL IV. 


199 


“ Nay, my lord, they were never addressed till 
so recently that I have had no time to discourage 
you. Till you were sure yourself of the port whither 
you were steering it seemed unnecessary for me to 
barricade my harbors.” 

I could have bitten my tongue off the next min- 
ute for this saucy, though true, speech ; for, with 
the honors of war on my side, I should have been 
at least generous, and besides, while anger and sar- 
casm are sometimes needful, those times are rare. 

He looked at me steadfastly a full minute, and 
then flung out the retort that I was so apt in naval 
illustrations that doubtless my heart was already 
engaged. 

I felt the crimson flare into my face at that, and 
was fairly struckdumb ; but I quickly said, “ ’Twould 
be strange if you and I neither heard nor used naval 
language, with our country so dependent on her 
ships and their brave crews. Were I a man,” I 
said, stoutly, “ I should surely enter the navy.” 

Had not mother come in I verily believe that we 
would then and there have had a hot quarrel. The 
sight of her made me recover both my sense and 
my courtesy, and I turned to my dismissed lover 
and said, honestly and heartily : 


200 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


“ My Lord Carew, I am grievously sorry for any 
pain I may have given you, and I thank you truly 
also again and again for the honor you have paid 
me, though in vain/’ 

Then I walked swiftly from the drawing-room 
straight up the long staircase to my room, and 
when I had locked the door I flung myself on a 
couch, and wept bitterly that I had so entirely for- 
gotten the sacred vows of the preceding day. 


FIGHTINGS WITHIN 


201 


CHAPTER XVII. 


Fightings Within. 

* MUST now carry you forward to a time two 
weeks later than the date of my last writing, as 
that interval was passed in such quietness at home 
and such peace of spirit within that, as I look back 
upon those sweet days, I seem to have lived in a 
paradise of bliss. 

There was a lull in our fashionable going and our 
receiving of visitors which was, indeed, none of our 
direct seeking; but the visitors happened to be 
many fewer than usual, and, as for invitations, no 
matter what the regale from their acceptance might 
have been, mother’s care of our guest made it nec- 
essary for us to decline. 

Thus day and night we lived well-nigh to our- 
selves. 

Mother and I spent much time in prayer and 
study of the Scriptures together ; for Mr. Wesley 
daily admonished me that though I was saved by 
grace yet that I must grow daily in grace. So con- 


202 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 

sumed was I with these new themes, new desires, 
and, I will add, new battles, especially with vanity, 
which I now recognized as my besetting sin, that I 
felt like a soldier under stern military drill, which, 
methinks, was a necessary sensation for one who 
had so nearly followed her own will all her life. 

I have always possessed an enormous faculty for 
making others follow- my behests, but, indeed, to 
command Cicely Hunter, and persuade her by an 
appeal alone to do right, to do good, and to be 
good, was the toughest operation of my life. 
Though I had a powerful, continual contention 
with my numerous weaknesses, the inner peace re- 
mained. 

But, all at once, like a flash of thought, while I 
was feeling that to be a Christian and live a Chris- 
tian was the easiest thing in the world, the inner 
comfort, which had so buoyed me, departed, and I 
fell into such a fit of the dumps as I had never 
known before. 

Father, busy as he was, saw the change in me, 
and dear mother expressed her notice of it by say- 
ing she feared I was ill. 

Father shook his head. Nay — his hand on my 
pulse — and said, On the contrary. Cicely was never 


FIGHTINGS WITHIN. 


203 


better. Though no such immediate full gift of light 
came to me as to you, daughter, still, the light that 
is in me has been often enough withdrawn for me 
to know that when the darkness comes there may 
be even a still higher walk with God through faith. 

“ It is as dark, father,” I exclaimed, “ as though I 
never had been born again. I feel cross and dis- 
couraged, and as if it were all a delusion.” 

“ Pray,” interposed Mr. Wesley, who had entered 
unobserved. “ ’Tis no delusion ; but if such victory 
remained a life-time with a young saint,where would 
be the fightings and wrestlings that mark the whole 
journey of life? The higher light shines upon me 
now well-nigh all the time, but it is because of the 
gradual breaking of the dawn of the eternal day. 
The good things of God come with much prayer. 
Live a Christian when you do not feel a Christian, 
for the feeling will take care of itself.” 

I looked at the venerable old man when he had 
ceased speaking, my eyes blurred with tears. He 
shone through the tears with a kind of awful sanc- 
tity. I realized so impressively his great age, his 
holiness, and an influence which ever sways me 
mysteriously for good when in his presence, that I 
deem what father - says is true — that -he was espe- 


204 


XICELY'S CHOICE. 


cially appointed as a messenger in our profligate 
and degenerate age to call a nation to salvation. 

Well, every thing went wrong that whole day. 
I wounded mother’s heart to the quick with my 
pertness. I insinuated to father that ’twere possible 
that Methodist views were kindred with Count Cagl- 
iostro’s superstitions, and brought upon myself a 
severe and sudden rebuke. I kept Nancy standing 
an hour when I saw all the time that she was sick 
and weary. I made a feint of eating a mighty small 
dinner when I was all but starving, to draw forth 
sympathy and attention. 

When we gathered together for family prayers 
that eve my cheeks burned with shame as father 
read aloud one of Mr. Charles Wesley’s recent com- 
positions : 

** The praying spirit breathe, 

The watching power impart, 

From all entanglements beneath 
Call off my peaceful heart ; 

My feeble mind sustain. 

By worldly thoughts oppressed ; 

Appear, and bid me turn again 
To my eternal rest. 

“ Swift to my rescue come. 

Thine own this moment seize; 

Gather my wandering spirit home. 

And keep in perfect peace : 


FIGHTINGS WITHIN, 


205 


Suffered no more to rove 
O'er all the earth abroad. 

Arrest the prisoner of thy love, 

And shut me up in God." 

Then Mr. Wesley read with great quietness, but 
much fervor, the fourteenth chapter of St. John. 
After the regular evening devotions from the 
Prayer Book, he added a short supplication for me 
which brought a cessation of my spiritual rebellion, 
and left me with a strange feeling of humbleness I 
had never experienced before ; but with it came a 
renewed assurance of God’s goodness and that he 
had vouchsafed a special blessing to me. 

I rose to my feet determined anew to fight the 
good fight of faith. 

Presently stealing from the room I summoned 
my poor maid, and bade her go at once to bed and 
sleep till she awoke of her own accord. Her sur- 
prised and grateful look was answer enough to the 
truth of my general heedlessness and selfishness. 


2o6 


CICELY'S choice: 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

Bath. 

S HE next day father announced that we were 
all to go to Bath for a fortnight, as the change 
of air would be most beneficial to Mr. Wesley and 
as he also required rest. 

This piece of news was a joyful surprise. 1 has- 
tened to my room to make ready, as we had but 
two days for what appeared to me essential and 
extensive preparations. 

I had longed so often to visit this famous watering- 
place, and had been so often disappointed in my 
expectations, that I could hardly believe it true 
when we were seated in the family coach. 

Mr. Wesley was most comfortably propped by 
pillows, and all dangerous draughts were excluded 
from his corner. He was in fine spirits, and, though 
so thin, his bright eyes, snowy locks, and the ex- 
ceeding delicacy and freshness of his complexion, 
the like of which I have never before beheld united 
with great age, made his appearance angelical. 


BATH. 


207 


Marcus and the maids were in a second coach, 
together with our numerous boxes; for father bade 
us take a fine array of dresses, since he expected us 
to meet many distinguished persons. 

I fancied Mr. Wesley would make occasion, dur- 
ing our long journey, to give me divers counsels on 
balls, card-playing, and other diversions in vogue at 
Bath. But he did nothing of the kind. 

Once he said he was pleased with my youthful 
spirits, and once mother and he had a conversation 
on w'hat pertains to the education of a female in 
genteel society ; to which I listened acutely. 

Among other studies he advised logic, of which 
I know no more than a baby. He mentioned a 
long array of histories, books I have often noticed 
on father’s shelves; but only one attracted me, to 
wit, Clarendon s History of the Rebellion. Times 
of war and discord have ever appealed to some- 
thing warlike in me. 

Then he gave mother a disquisition on meta- 
physicks, and eulogized a work called Locke s Essay 
on the Understanding, and another named Search 
After Truth, by a French writer, Malebranche — re- 
marking that he had included them in a list of 

books for his niece, Sally. 

14 


2o8 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


For poetics he advised Spenser, Shakespeare, 
Hoole, Fairfax, and Milton. And for a beginning 
and an ending he advised the study of divinity. 

I thought to myself, did I know all these sub- 
jects I would be wiser than half the witlings who 
dabble in learning at Oxford and Cambridge. 

Mother feared that so much wisdom might unsex 
a woman, but Mr. Wesley only shook his head 
sagely, remarking that the half that women could 
do for God, both with learning and without it, was 
not yet known. 

Father gave the horse he was riding to a groom, 
at this juncture, and came inside, when he and 
Mr. Wesley conversed in Latin a bit. 

As this was not to my edification I busied my 
thoughts with Bath and my future till I grew 
sleepy, which was just as we were approaching 
Maidenhead Bridge, where we spent the first night, 
though we had great difficulty in finding an inn, as 
all were full, because of the Windsor hunt the day 
before. 

The second day was uneventful. At night we 
put up at Speen Hill. 

At Devizes, where we slept the third night, 
Mr. Wesley was slightly ill. We waited for him to 


BATH. 


209 


regain strength, and it was a week after we left Lon- 
don before we set foot in the famous watering-place. 

O, such a beautiful town as Bath is ! The houses 
are as fine as London mansions. The streets are 
clean and elegant, and on every hand opens an 
enchanting prospect. 

Father took lodgings on the South Parade, and 
my delight was great when I discovered from my 
window the gentle Avon flowing through peaceful 
meadows. 

Every body is here. Both Dr. Porteus, Bishop 
of Chester, and the Bishop of Worcester are here, 
and, while not the gayest of the gay, are in all the 
good times, and the latter greatly conspicuous, as 
his wife is a notable woman of fashion. 

I could not but think of the learned divine who 
is our guest, and who expresses himself determined, 
the first day he walks out, to go, not to promenade 
on the Parade, or to visit the Pump Room, or to be 
seen at Lady Miller’s, but to hunt up some poor 
colliers who were converted under his preaching 
when he was at Bath before. 

He went with us, on the first Sunday, to St. 
James’s Church, where we beheld a tonnish enough 
audience, but heard so poor a preacher that mother 


210 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


and I spent the afternoon in reading aloud some 
of Dr. Robert South’s sermons. 

Toward sunset we went out for a walk, and met 
Bishop Porteus with a party of friends whom he 
had escorted down the river to a place where public 
teas are sold, and where, the guests declared, they 
had been both well feasted and well entertained by 
their host. 

Mother shook her head a trifle sadly as we saun- 
tered on, but her respect is ever so great for the 

powers that be ” that she kept silence. 

But, these days, I think much for myself. 

The following Thursday we diverted ourselves 
the whole morning in looking over the handsome 
goods of a milliner who craved the privilege of 
showing us her merchandise. 

Mother bought me a new bonnet, which I could 
not, however, try on, as my hair was already dressed 
for Lady Miller’s vase^ which is the most modish 
entertainment in Bath just at present. Nobody is 
any thing in Bath, this season, who is neither literary 
nor musical. 

I thank my stars that I can perform on the violin 
before a critical audience, and I was silly enough 
when Lady Mary Wortley Montagu declared that 


BATH. 


211 


this accomplishment, together with my beauty, 
would make me a great belle, to feel immensely 
flattered and vain. 

In Bath, in spite of my endeavors to the con- 
trary, I am constantly taking two steps earthward 
to each step heavenward. I notice that Mr. Wesley 
observes me carefully, but I have still to hear a 
single word of advice or admonishment from him. 

Lady Mary is dreadfully learned, universally 
traveled, and quite the rage ever since London for- 
got its scare over her bravery in introducing inocu- 
lation for small-pox in the great lessening of that 
calamitous disease. I like her immensely, and if 
all blue-stockings resembled her, or I at least could 
hope to do so, I would take up Mr. Wesley’s course 
of reading. Still, my notion is that learning and I 
will never be boon companions. 

Well, we went to Lady Miller’s. 

The witlings were there in force, trying their 
hand at poetry, for it is the proper thing at this 
assemblage to write a piece of poetry and drop it 
into a huge vase all decked off with ribbons. There 
is a committee on prizes, and the lucky poet is the 
hero of the day. I did not try, for, after racking 
my brains for an hour, all I could put together was, 


212 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


Alack, alack, alack a day, 

What on earth shall I say ? 

O, dear me ! There are so many pompous people 
here, each one so important over nothing ! 

Lady Miller is a dowdyish sort of woman, her 
fine clothes to the contrary ; she is rather coarse- 
looking, too, and so energetic, serious, and conse- 
quential about these prizes that one would think 
she was discovering Shakespeares by the score. 
And all these would-be male poets do walk about 
with such a lackadaisical air, as if they had springs 
in their knees and toes that refused to bend back- 
ward. A fashionable gait is my abomination! 

I was mightily pestered with these poets. How 
I sighed for a half hour of James Keble’s eloquent 
silence! 1 talked to them, however, like mad. In- 
deed, that is the way every one talks here, though 
much of the time nothing is said. All who were 
present were either persons of rank or famous, as 
Lady Miller prides herself on the quality of her 
companies, and the character as well ; for she will 
really not admit any one of either blemished repu- 
tation or character. 

In the evening of this same day we went to a fine 
concert given at a house facing on the Circus, which 


BATH, 


213 


is another fashionable place for promenading. 
There was much singing, but little music in it till 
Mr. Charles Wesley and his brother sang an ar- 
rangement of Jommelli’s Miserere set for two voices. 
They rendered it well, and the tears, I think, had 
come to my eyes to stay had not a spinster fol- 
lowed them with an English song full of Chloe and 
Phyllis, as out of date as the last century, especially 
now that every one affects Italian music. 

They say that after a certain age time stands still 
with every one, and that the pleasure of life con- 
sists in the repetition of the trite. I cannot fancy 
such a condition of affairs in my own case, for I was 
tired of Bath after we had been there a week. With 
all my frivolity — and I am brimful of it, I know, for 
I find it so difficult to be serious — I nevertheless 
count it exceedingly silly to do naught but walk up 
and down on the Parade and the Circus, to linger in 
the Pump Room drinking the waters, to dress perpet- 
ually for balls, concerts, and teas, and to talk all the 
talk which does not contain one new thing, but 
makes a deal of clatter ; and to be tonnish in Bath 
these are the occupations required. 

I rose early one morning, thinking to have an 
hour for communion with nature, which ever leads 


214 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


my thoughts to God ; but, when I tripped out of 
doors, lo and behold ! there sat Mr. Wesley on a 
bench in earnest converse with a creature that I had 
difficulty in discerning to be a woman. 

She was a collier who had heard that the great 
preacher was recovering his health in Bath, and had 
trudged from the coal mines, not very far distant, 
to see his face and ask him if there were truly 
another life. 

Mr. Wesley beckoned me to him, his smile full 
of ravishing sweetness, on which that collier fixed 
her gaunt and melancholy eyes as though she saw 
an angel. She stared at me too, with an expression 
in which was neither curiosity nor shamefacedness, 
but only a stupid amazement, as if she had suddenly 
found herself in the presence of a new order of 
beings. 

“ Do you see this woman. Mistress Cicely? ” said 
Mr. Wesley. “ She lives beneath the ground all 
day and knows neither the blessedness of the sun- 
light nor the invigoration of fresh air. This is the 
first day in ten years that she has walked abroad 
on the sweet earth, and has leave to do it to-day 
only because her three children lie dead in her little 
cabin. She goes fourteen hours a day on hands 


BATH, 


215 


and feet, drawing coal-cars through the mine, the 
ropes around her waist and passed between her legs, 
for which cause she is clad in these trousers of sack- 
ing as you behold her. But she has a mother’s heart, 
notwithstanding, and has walked a weary way to 
ask if I know where those little souls have sped. 
When I told her that they were with One who 
would carry them like lambs in his bosom, she 
asked whether there be darksome mines in that 
other world, and whether mothers have time to 
nurse their babies there and love them.” 

Then he turned to the woman and talked a dia- 
lect that I could follow but little ; but he said to 
me in an aside, “ If you will do the dear Lord’s 
work, be all things to all men. Mistress Cicely.” 

O, how mean and little I felt as I saw the shadow, 
so to speak, of a happy light illumine that collier’s 
faded cheek as Mr. Wesley talked ! And how I 
longed, too, to be about my Master’s business in- 
stead of consuming my time in careless amuse- 
ment ! 

When I said so to Mr. Wesley, after the woman 
had gone away much comforted, and with money to 
buy a breakfast, he looked at me most searchingly 
and said, briefly. 


2I6 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


Yea, work while it is to-day ; for the night 
cometh in which no man can work.” 

• We sat under a fine old beech, the sunlight flick- 
ering through its myriad leaves and casting a halo 
over that saintly head. 

Mr. Wesley seemed lost in thought, but at length 
suddenly rose to his feet, his face aglow with ener- 
gy and enthusiasm. Extending his hands to the sky 
he ejaculated, “ God, reveal my work for to-day ! ” 
Then, looking down at me, he said; “ On Satur- 
day I shall preach, in the fields hard by, to thou- 
sands of God’s poor. Perhaps there will be a word 
for you in that sermon. Pray that there may be.” 

“ O, Mr. Wesley,” I said, do you think father 
will let me attend a field-meeting here? ” 

‘^Yea, even that!” he answered, a humorsome 
smile softening the solemnity of his countenance. 
^‘Your revered father now believes with me that 
the world is my parish ; yea, though even the 
Bishop of London has writ against me, and though 
the lord mayor has forbidden my use of the halls 
and markets of the city. When the Archbishop of 
Canterbury laid his hands upon my head and said, 
‘ Take thou authority to preach the Gospel,’ yea, 
since that time, as the Spirit has illuminated me. 


BATH. 


217 


kave I preached it, and I shall preach its blessed 
cheer whenever and wherever I find souls longing 
or needing to drink of the waters of salvation.” 

What had I to say before such a fervor ! I 
maintained silence mixed with awe, but burned with 
impatience for Saturday. I was loth to keep my 
engagements for two teas and one concert in the 
intervening time. 

I ween that Mr. Wesley thinks well enough of 
such diversions occasionally indulged in, though he 
spoke openly and boldly to father in condemnation 
of the universal custom, both in the Church and 
out of it, of card-playing, dancing, and tippling. 

Father kept silence. Fashions have ever seemed 
to him important, and as expressing the taste and 
habits of the most intelligent classes. Still, I know 
that he already sees much in a different aspect from 
what he did a year ago. As for myself, I am far too 
young to act rashly, especially as I am sure that 
father will weigh these matters and in the end 
decide wisely and righteously. 

When I see the host of giddy men and women 
here, giddier than their children, even, I realize that 
the greatest blessing yet vouchsafed me is father 
and mother. 


2X8 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


CHAPTER :^IX. 

Mr. Keble Suddenly Appears. 

HO should turn up late on Tuesday morn- 



ing but Mr. Horace Walpole, goutier than 
ever, and attired in the tip of the fashion. I won- 
dered, as I looked at him, if the great statesman who 
made the family so famous had time for so much 
French costumery. Mr. Walpole was very pale; 
bloodless. Especially his face. I suppose he feels 
mighty feeble, for his fingers have just gotten rid 
again of the chalk-stones that form in their joints. 
However, he came into our parlor, bowing and tip- 
toeing just like Lady Miller’s poets, his hat carried 
between his hands as if the business of his life were 
to keep it crushed and formless. He wore a sum- 
mer suit of lavender. His waistcoat was embroid- 
ered with silver. His silk stockings were of the 
delicate soft hue of the partridge, and set off with 
exceedingly handsome gold buckles. His frill and 
ruffles were of the costliest lace. Before he went, 
though he made but a short visit, he presented a 


MR. KEBLE SUDDENLY APPEARS, 


219 


snufif-box, sparkling with jewels, to all in the room, 
and filled, he assured us, with delicious tadac 
d^trennes. 

But I am bound never to be a snuff-taker, fashion 
or no fashion, and so I declined. Mother, who is 
ever most polite, though snuff is disagreeable to 
her, took a pinch, with which I noticed, however, 
she soon slyly parted company. 

It was that same evening that I was pouring tea 
in the Marchioness of Downing’s rooms, to my own 
enjoyment and the delectation and bodily comfort 
of five or six young men, who hovered about me as 
bees over honey. 

The marchioness is distantly related to mother, 
and has requested me to receive with her at all of 
her entertainments. As she is so much higher in 
rank than we are, and as father opines it may be to 
my advantage to be chaperoned by so great a 
lady, there is nothing for me to do but to be at her 
beck and bidding. I mislike it somewhat, as I per- 
ceive that the marchioness is far more conscious 
than I am of her condescension. However, I forget 
her as much as possible and enjoy myself between- 
times. 

Well, I had just given a smart rejoinder, as I 


220 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


handed him his tea, to a rattling, harum-scarum 
youth who was jovializing us all with his wit, when, 
in slightly turning my head to better hear a speech 
at my left, whom should I behold standing in the 
deep embrasure of a window, his arms folded upon 
his breast, but James Keble ! 

I had like to have dropped the tea-cup I had 
taken up, but I managed to maintain some com- 
posure, and, arching my brows slightly, I bowed. 
But my discovery kept undoing me more and more. 

I was piqued that he had not come forward; I 
was chagrined that he had heard all the silly banter 
of the witlings around me, and O, more than all, 
the sight of hirti was so precious that I wished the 
room were a wilderness and I alone with him in it. 

Time went on leaden wings, though I verily be- 
lieve not more than ten minutes had elapsed before 
I had dissipated the court about my chair and had 
risen to give him a better chance, if that were what 
he wanted. I fortified myself to look toward that 
window, then, once more. 

He was gone. 

How vexed I felt both with him and myself! I 
had no time for musings, however, for the evening 
was drawing near, and it was necessary for me to 


MR, KEBLE SUDDENLY APPEARS. 


221 


call my chair and go home to get ready for the illu- 
minations and fire-works that were to be displayed, 
after which was to follow a ball given by Sir William 
Chatterton at his mansion on the Crescent. 

While I was dressing my thoughts flew hither and 
thither, querying why and how Mr. Keble had come 
so suddenly to Bath. 

I had believed him gone to some far distant port. 

Mother put an end to my speculations by coming 
into my chamber to bid me hasten, as one fire-wheel 
had already been set off. I soon joined father and 
her, and we sauntered forth. 

I was immensely delighted with an embankment 
of barges in the river, each one decked with myriad 
streamers, and adding vastly to the scene whenever 
a piece was lighted. 

All the beaux and belles were out in force. The 
former stared so boldly at our party — a depraved 
foreign fashion — that I believe I will drop them a 
courtesy if they continue thus forward. A presuming 
man is as little to my taste as a forward woman. 

We came out, eventually, where we had a fine 
view of barges, fire-works, the surging crowd, and 
the illuminations, which were on the whole very 
creditable and patriotic. The illuminations were 


222 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


huge paintings on oiled paper eulogizing some event 
in the reign of his majesty. As they were out of 
doors they made a new and interesting spectacle, 
more novel to my taste than any tableaux that I 
had ever seen. 

Although I was all eyes and ears and animation 
for the brilliant pageant before me, there was an 
inner Cicely Hunter who sought every-where for 
James Keble, and who grew depressed and fretful 
as figure after figure of manly proportions came 
upon the horizon, and not one of them proving to 
be he. For the first time a thrilling fear possessed 
me lest he should step out of my life as quietly as 
he had stolen admittance to my regard. I knew 
that night, in the midst of all the gayety and fashion 
which reigned on every hand in a very carnival of 
splendor, that never for one moment had my affec- 
tions spoken for Lord Carew or wavered from 
James. ’Twas the will-o-the-wisp ambition that 
had allured me from ever showing one ray of en- 
couragement to the splendid man who now so filled 
the very air that, had an illumination suddenly been 
displayed, revealing him in all his excellent beauty 
and commanding aboard his ship, ’twould not have 
surprised me in the least. 


MR. KEBLE SUDDENLY APPEARS. 


The evening waned toward ten, when we turned 
toward the ball-room, where father thought we 
should at least go and show ourselves, though I had 
begged off from dancing, feeling strangely disin- 
clined to it since I had been in Bath ; and music 
usually goes to my feet as quickly as to my senti- 
ment. 

We had come into the very shadow of the beech 
under which Mr. Wesley and I had sat, and there, 
on the self-same bench, his face lit up by a flambeau 
carried by a passing servant, was the object of my 
heart’s search. 

He rose instantly, and making mother a profound 
bow, which in some way included me, he took 
father’s hand, which was at once heartily extended. 

Mother and I courtesied, I doing my very loftiest, 
for I was suddenly piqued that we should have en- 
countered him thus, even as if I were not in the 
world ! 

He presently stole a look at me, and as it met 
mine his hazel eyes lit up with a sudden fire which 
was as speedily quenched ; but his countenance kept 
a softened aspect, and his voice mellowed and 
deepened, and I still knew that he cherished the 

thought of me. 

15 


224 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


He remained but a trifling time in conversation 
and then bade us good-evening, to which I replied 
with an uncontrollable falter in my tone by asking 
would he be at the ball. 

He briefly and gravely said “ Nay,” gazing at me 
suddenly, withal, with such an appealing eye that 
I was lost in wonder ; then he turned and disap- 
peared rapidly in the darkness. 

A young man of fine parts,” said mother, as we 
too walked on. 

“Yea,” said father; “his like is not often seen. 
He was nobly made by his Creator. ’Tis certain, 
an he lives, he will be Lord High Admiral.” 

O how my heart swelled with pride under the 
covering night ! Had I been his wife I could 
not have assented more heartily to these eulogies. 
Little did father think how hard he was driving in 
a nail that I felt sure his schemes for me would 
wrench out, were that possible. 

We did not remain long at the ball, for my head 
ached so badly that I begged to be taken home. I 
tossed all that night in uneasy thought and fantas- 
tic dreams, for great fear had gotten hold of me, 
that, though James Keble did love me, he never- 
theless meant to cut himself loose from such a tri- 


MR, KEBLE SUDDENL V APPEARS. 


225 


fling and changeable young woman as I had ever 
delighted in showing myself to him. 

The next day wore drearily away. The concert 
was the most stupid one I had ever heard. 

Mother gave a tea in the afternoon, at which I 
was forced to appear my best ; and hard work it 
was, for, though an invitation had been sent to Mr. 
Keble early in the morning, he had replied in the 
negative on the plea of another engagement. 

Mr. Wesley stepped in a few minutes when the 
guests were just a-coming. I am sure he did so 
only to honor mother. When I urged his longer 
stay he gently refused me, saying that he had a 
prayer-meeting to conduct preparatory to the great 
field-meeting. These prayer-meetings, methinks, 
are very hybrid affairs. No Prayer Book, from all 
accounts, and numerous short addresses to the 
Almighty from both the learned and the ignorant. 
There are days — and this is one of them — when it 
taxes all my faith in and admiration of Mr. Wesley 
to countenance his strange doings. 

I wonder what James Keble would think if he 
knew I was half a follower of this churchly dissenter. 
He would feel sure, doubtless, that I had sheer lost 
my senses. 


226 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


CHAPTER XX. 

The F i e 1 d-M e e t i n g . 

S HE day for the field-meeting was one of 
heavenly fairness. 

As the services were to begin at nine of the 
clock, we had to rise betimes. 

Criers went through Bath at eight, summoning 
all who wished to hear good news for this world and 
the next to attend a sermon to be preached by Mr. 
John Wesley. 

I stuck my head out of the window to better 
hear, and saw a score of ladies of rank and fashion 
doing likewise. There was much sniggering and 
sparring among the maids and lackeys over the 
proclamation. 

On every hand were placards announcing the 
meetings. Indeed, it was published far and wide, 
both in town and country. 

Nothing but father’s great fame for learning and 
skill and mother’s sweet dignity, of which she is 
never dispossessed, kept some of our friends, I am 


THE FIELD MEETING. 


227 


sure, from openly ridiculing us for our intention to 
join the vast crowds of poor folk gathering from all 
quarters and flocking to the meadows hard by. The 
Marchioness of Downing did advise father some- 
what haughtily to leave mother and me at home, if 
he felt that he must go in the interest of science. 

“ My lady,” he replied, his proud mouth set 
rather scornfully, “ neither I nor my family go in 
the interest of science, but to see if perchance this 
mode of teaching and preaching be more excellent 
than the one to which we have been bred. Cer- 
tainly our beloved Church has come to such a sorry 
pass that one looks as quickly for Christliness with- 
out her pale as for godliness within it. What little 
piety there is left is so sadly ostentatious that I 
ween if God’s work is to be done in England there 
will have to be a pentecostal display.” 

The Marchioness looked mightily ruffled. But, as 
she has a sick son whose life, she considers, hangs 
on father’s skill, she said no more, but moved away 
with a cold, hard mien, which made her appear 
shockingly ugly. She is a handsome woman, but, 
0,so worldly-wise and ambitious ! Social ambition, 
I begin to think, is a dry-rot that leaves absolutely 
nothing behind it. 


228 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


We went in our traveling-carriage to the scene of 
the meeting, intending to sit comfortably within its 
shelter. But when we found at least ten thousand 
souls collected about the cart in which Mr. Wesley 
already stood we knew that such ease was of no use, 
were we to hear properly. 

Never, never shall I forget that scene. The river 
sparkled in the sunlight. The gentle hills, clothed 
in the vivid green of early summer, swelled toward 
the sky in velvet softness. The sun’s rays were 
tempered by fleecy clouds sprinkling the whole 
heavens. A soft breeze stirred the grass and the 
leaves, and made me think of “ The wind bloweth 
where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound thereof, 
but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither 
it goeth. So is every one that is born of the Spirit.” 

Over the vast crowd a spirit of expectancy brooded 
which powerfully affected me. 

Mr. Wesley stood, calm as an angel, surveying the 
sea of upturned faces. He had on his gown and 
bands, just as if he were in church. 

Father pressed forward, the crowd separating 
reverently as they beheld a man of rank, and, after 
some effort, he got a footing for us quite near the 
cart. It would have been folly to try to sit, even 


THE FIELD-MEETING. 


229 


had we had chairs, for the swaying multitude stood 
in such a compact, almost breathless, mass that it 
was necessary to keep our heads on a level with 
those of others. 

The ground descended slightly from where we 
stood. Even when Mr. Wesley at length raised his 
attenuated hands to ask a blessing, from every side 
could still be seen the people coming. I heard 
afterward that fully twenty thousand were gathered 
there. 

After the benediction, somewhere from out the 
great assembly broke a choir of voices, strong, 
ardent, and singing in perfect accord a hymn that 
for tenderness and pathos came well-nigh undoing 
me. And, though I could not see the singers, every 
now and then a trio of voices, strangely familiar, 
would take up the theme alone and waft the melody 
heavenward as though they were inspired. That 
hymn was then and there engraven on my memory, 
and, as oft as I have heard it since, it has inspired me 
with new fervor. Somehow, as I repeat — 

‘‘ When I survey the wondrous cross 
On which the Prince of glory died, 

My richest gain I count but loss, 

And pour contempt on all my pride,” 

my heart overflows with love and humility. 


230 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


After the singing Mr. Wesley said in a solemn 
tone, that must penetrate, it seemed to me, to the 
farthest outsider present, “ Let us pray.” 

O, such a prayer ! Such a simple, child-like, wish- 
ful prayer. Prayer for food for the hungry ; prayer 
for clothing for the naked ; prayer for grace for the 
sinful ; prayer for love for the friendless ; prayer in 
earnest, impassioned, beseeching entreaty for the 
descent then, there, upon those thousands, of the 
gift of the Holy Ghost. 

Cries of “ Hear, Lord,” “Come, Lord Jesus,” 
“Come, thou true Friend of sinners,” rose devo- 
tionally on all hands. 

As I heard these entreaties in the rough burr of 
colliers, in the failing treble of age, and repeated 
now and then in the plaintive appeal of a woman, 
I wept. 

Everyone is praying, I said solemnly to myself. 
Thousands upon thousands praying at once ! I 
wiped the tears but could not restrain them, and 
they flowed afresh. 

When Mr. Wesley had finished I lifted my eyes, 
and lo ! in the cart beside him stood Charles and 
Samuel Wesley and James Keble. They at once 
began singing : 


THE FI^LD-MEETING, 


231 


“ Jesus, thy wandering sheep behold ! 

See, Lord, with yearning bowels see, 

Poor souls that cannot find the fold, 

Till sought and gathered in by thee. 

“ Lost are they now, and scatter’d wide, 

In pain and weariness and want ; 

With no kind shepherd near to guide 
The sick and spiritless and faint. 

“ Thou, only thou, the kind and good 
And sheep-redeeming Shepherd art ; 

Collect thy flock and give them food, 

And pastors after their own heart. 

“ Give the pure word of gen’ral grace, 

And great shall be the preacher’s crowd ; 

Preachers who all the sinful race. 

Point to the all-atoning blood. 

“Thine only glory let them seek ; 

0,iet their hearts with love o’erflow ; 

Let them believe and therefore speak. 

And spread thy mercy’s praise below.” 

As I heard these simple words sung, and saw how 
the hungry, coal-begrimed, rudely-dressed masses 
about me — for I was in the midst of the colliers — 
drank in their meaning, I had a sensible apprecia- 
tion that these new ways were what the ignorant 
needed. Mr. Wesley’s parish of the world all at 
once seemed immeasurably greater to me than the 
See of Canterbury. 


232 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


And father ! Would that I could describe his 
face. His keen eyes roved hither and thither. His 
pale countenance showed signs of violent but sup- 
pressed emotion. His usual stateliness of demeanor 
had forsaken him. When Mr. Wesley gave out his 
text : 

“ The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he 
hath anointed me to preach the Gospel to the poor,’' 
and hundreds of voices rang out, ‘‘ Glory to God ! ” 
the tears ran down father’s face, too, as if he had 
been a girl ; only, unlike me, he did not wipe them 
away, but continued watching that army — for I can 
call it naught else — of gaunt men and women, of 
wondering, ill- kempt children, of hard-working 
trades-people, of creatures well-nigh unsexed through 
brutal labor in the mines — crying, laughing, shout- 
ing over the good, strange news that there was a 
heaven where there would be neither halt nor blind, 
neither sick nor famished, neither rich nor poor, but 
where all, all would be one in Christ Jesus. 

Suddenly my father, too, cried out in stentorian 
tones, “ Glory to God ! ” 

Mother looked up at him in a kind of peaceful 
surprise, and then took his hand and clasped it. 

All at once, across the intervening space, I caught 


THE FIELD-MEETING, 


233 


James Keble’s eyes shining like lode-stars. He 
looked at me with a great gladness. 

When Mr. Wesley’s sermon was done, and while 
the crowd, after a short prayer, was breaking rapidly 
up, the singers hastened to us. Father and mother 
vied with each other in doing them honor. 

Presently James Keble came to me, for I had 
dropped a little behind, and taking my hand most 
gently, which I was, indeed, prompt to extend, he 
said, eagerly, “Are we both Methodists, Cicely?” 

I longed to say “ yes,” but a perverse, mischiev- 
ous spirit got the better of me and I replied, “ I was 
confirmed in the Lady Margaret Chapel two years 
ago, and I am, therefore, a Church woman.” 

“You can be that and a Methodist also,” said 
James ; but with a note of anxiety in his tones that 
made me relent, so that I added without further 
teasing, “ An to be a Methodist is to emulate Mr. 
Wesley, then I, too, am one.” 

He turned away his head as if he would conceal 
somewhat from me. 

My bravery forsook me, for it is, after all, a ter- 
rible thing to see a strong man fighting against an 
emotion that threatens to overcome him. 

Without asking him one of the questions I was 


234 


CICEL Y'S CHOICE. 


burning to have answered — Why he was here? and 
how he became a follower of the new teaching? — I 
simply forced myself to say, calmly, “ I am glad we 
think alike, Mr. Keble,” and then walked back to 
mother. 

She was in earnest discussion with a group who 
were talking about a man who lay like dead, hard- 
by, responding to none of the efforts to resuscitate 
him, but with a look of inexpressible peace on his 
face. 

I gathered from the conversation that he had 
been a notorious criminal, only very recently let out 
of Newgate Prison. At the beginning of the ser- 
mon he had openly mocked and derided, then had 
been stricken with a mighty fear, and then had begun 
to call on the Lord Jesus to save him, and then had 
suddenly joyfully repeated the very words of en- 
treaty Mr. Wesley had been using; “The blood of 
Jesus Christ cleanseth even me!” Thereupon he 
had immediately fallen into the condition in which 
we saw him. 

When we got back to our rooms, father told 
mother that he believed the condition as likely to 
be a visitation as to be due to over-excitement, 
adding that he saw no reason why the gift of the 


THE FIELD-MEETING, 


235 


Spirit, especially to men who had been long hard- 
ened in crime, should not appear to rend the very 
soul and body asunder. “ If it were nervous prostra- 
tion,” he continued, “ the effect is worthy of the 
absorbing importance of the cause. We do not 
think less of a man for fainting over the settlement 
of some great issue in his life. God was so present 
in that multitude this morning that it would not 
have surprised me had the very heavens opened 
and revealed the celestial glory. We belong to the 
Greeks by station, wife, but let us pray that we 
may also be of those foolish ones who drink deeply 
of the wells of salvation.” 


236 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

A Leave-Taking. 

'5(^7 E lingered in Bath a few days longer, follow- 
ing the routine of our daily life ; but mother 
found it irksome and father became restless, as if he 
were under irritating conditions. As he still felt 
sadly unwell he decided to take us to a sequestered 
hamlet on the West Coast for a few weeks’ stay be- 
fore returning to London. 

I noticed that he said no more to me about balls 
and card-parties, so that I followed my own inclina- 
tions, and without hinderance refused invitations to 
such diversions. 

Mr. Wesley’s strength held out so bravely during 
the field-meeting that, father did not advise his 
longer sojourn in Bath, and he therefore left us two 
days later, with many blessings, for a tour through 
his Scottish circuits. 

Where James Keble was I did not know. He 
seemed to have disappeared from my field of vision 
as suddenly as he had appeared upon it. A heavy 


A LEAVE-TAKING, 


237 


weight of self-consciousness kept me from trying to 
discover his whereabouts. 

But just after our boxes were all locked and 
corded preparatory to our leaving, and while we sat 
waiting for our traveling-carriage, Marcus ushered 
in that very young gentleman himself, so stalwart 
and handsome, so manly in his naval uniform, and 
withal so joyous in his mien, that I felt a great pride 
in him and a sense of possession that made me 
composed before father and mother, and all a trem- 
ble inwardly with excitement lest Mr. Keble should 
read my heart too clearly. 

Without questioning, but with an occasional 
glance at me which I interpreted most personally, 
although he addressed himself to my parents, he 
told how his fleet had been kept waiting for weeks 
in the Channel expecting to receive sealed orders 
for sailing, and had then been dispatched to the 
mouth of the Severn, whence he had taken a run 
up to Bath on two separate occasions, on each of 
which, his eyes plainly told me, he had seen me, and 
how he had now got leave of absence for a week, 
during which time he hoped to be allowed to see 
much of us. 

I could have cried with vexation that our plans 


238 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


were all made to go to Quigley. I knew well that 
father would not change them, and if I had died for 
not doing so I could not summon courage to beg 
him to remain. 

Both he and mother most politely and cordially 
expressed their regret that we were about starting 
for a spot on the coast sixty miles distant. 

I think father saw the sinking expression in James 
Keble’s eyes, though his face otherwise maintained 
a fine discretion, for he added kindly : 

“ I am out of health, Mr. Keble, and, not finding 
the rest I thought Bath would afford, we are going 
to this bit of rocky, wind-swept coast to see what a 
few weeks there will do for me before my next course 
of lectures begins.” 

Even while he spoke I heard the carriage rattling 
up, and mother, looking out of the window, said, 
‘‘ Here are the carriages and servants.” 

Mr. Keble rose at once, but asked leave to accom- 
pany us to the street. We all went down stairs 
together, father and mother ahead, and he and I 
behind. 

O how I wished that staircase might stretch out 
the length of Jacob’s ladder! But we were down 
before we could either summon courage to speak. 


A LEAVE-TAKING. 


239 


My eyes were swimming in such a sea of tears that 
if I had winked once they would have covered my 
face with a shower. 

“ Cicely,” said James, as we crossed the thresh- 
old, “ may I write to you ? ” 

“ If father be willing — yes.” 

Mother had entered the coach with amazing quick- 
ness, and, to my disappointment, father insisted on 
putting me in, so that it happened I did not even 
shake hands in good-bye with Mr. Keble. 

He stood with his cap off as we drove away, but 
with his eyes fixed on me, and all that they said I 
knew. 

“ Daughter,” remarked father, after we had gone 
some distance in silence, Mr. Keble asked me for 
my address and craved permission to write to me.” 
He looked at me gravely and questioningly, but I 
said nothing, only the color mantled my face and 
neck most painfully. 

Father and mother exchanged glances. My heart 

sank as I noticed how serious and troubled they 

remained all that day. I could form no idea of what 

light they would consider Mr. Keble as my suitor in, 

but I hoped, if being Methodistic had robbed me 

of all foolish ambition and love for an empty title, 
16 


240 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


that the new teaching would also make Sir William 
and Lady Hunter willing to give their daughter to a 
poor young man ; since, moreover, he had all other 
qualifications except wealth and rank, and might 
even some day be Lord High Admiral. 

Though we each had a new burden to carry we 
had a beautiful journey, and covered the distance 
by nightfall. 


QUIGLEY. 


241 


CHAPTER XXII. 

Quigley. 

t UIGLEY is a nest of little houses built upon 
cliffs whose upper slopes break into all manner 
of grassy undulations. At the foot of the cliffs is a 
deep sea, washing here and there over a circle of 
steep, pebbly beach, and a few rods distance from 
the hamlet playing over bowlders and reefs that 
flank a less severe stretch of coast. 

It is the wildest, sweetest spot I have ever seen. 
Every morning I was on the shore watching the 
tides, learning every reef by heart, and listening to 
the swish of the waters as they dashed over the 
rocks and then swept out to sea again, apparently 
taking every single drop back with them. 

There was one place in particular that I dearly 
loved. I could step from the deepest, greenest 
sward upon a ledge seamed with furrows^ as if the 
salt water had eaten channels into it. This ledge 
reached in a long point out into deep water, de- 
scending by a series of broken natural steps to the 


242 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


level of the tide. Along its base were numberless 
jagged bowlders. A reef or two sloped seaward. 
Beds of tall weeds waved here and there far below 
the surface of the high tide. It was a savage, un- 
tamed nook, full of hidden, unearthly sounds, with 
numberless eddies and miniature brooks rushing 
from one deep hole to another in foaming currents 
when the tide came in strong. I wondered had 
there ever been wrecks there, and picked out a 
vast, lichen-covered, smoothly-sloping rock some 
distance out, that made me think of a huge tooth, 
as the waters drew away from its base and then 
came back, curling and licking it over as if they 
were sharpening it for the savage butchery of the 
sea. 

Often I would sit on the shore on a pleasant 
day, when the sky hung high and smiling, and the 
white sails were jotting the horizon, watching that 
rock till I fancied I could hear the keel of a ship 
grinding up its green, slimy slopes, and then reel- 
ing and sinking into the yawning vortex below. 
This idea obtained such haunting possession of me 
that I stayed away from the spot a couple of days. 

Father meanwhile had received Mr. Keble’s 
letter. He took me on a walk one bright, still 


QUIGLEY, 


243 


morning, and, sitting down on the beach, read it to 
me, while I looked out to sea. 

It was a manly letter, full of modesty and cour- 
age both, paying due tribute to father’s celebrity, 
rank, and wealth, but pleading with robust fervor 
for the writer’s youth and expectations. There was 
no word about love or marriage in it but O how 
full of love it sounded to me ! 

** ’Tis indeed a high-toned, creditable epistle. 
Cicely,” said father, as he slowly folded it and put 
it in his pocket ; “ but I am right sorry to have 
received it. What should you wish me to say to 
his request ? ” 

“I could wish you to say ‘Yes,’” I answered, 
falteringly. 

Father remained silent. I think he had not ex- 
pected so much boldness from me. 

“That I cannot say, daughter,” he answered, 
coldly. “ I shall tell him to win his laurels, and 
then open the matter anew.” 

“ O, father,” I cried, “ it may take years.” 

“Years, Cicely, will either prove how much you 
love him, or see you happily married to some one 
else more becoming your rank and condition. 
Youth is short. Life is long. Trust your father.” 


244 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


These last words were so commanding that they 
awoke in me both defiance and submission. 

We walked back to mother, and I with the first 
great bitterness, I can truly say, that I had ever 
felt toward either parent. But then it behooves 
me to add that never before could I have framed 
the slightest excuse for such a frame of mind. 

In the late afternoon I slipped away alone to my 
favorite, yet dreaded, resort on the beach. The tide 
was half in. I clambered down to the last rough 
step separating me from that ocean waste and the 
green earth behind me. It was a somber hour. 
Afar hung a gray mist, making a near horizon. 
Close at hand in many a hidden cave sounded a 
remorseless refrain that ever grew deepen A fitful, 
sullen breeze blew from the west. Albeit the ocean 
looked still, an occasional whitecap betrayed a 
gathering commotion. It all accorded well with 
my unhappy, despondent mood. 

A short year before I had been a giddy girl at 
school. Then I felt sure that I was born to be 
happy. No unhappier girl in all England now 
existed. 

I thought of the new light that had broken upon 
my soul in London ; of how it had come and gone 


QUIGLEY. 


245 


since ; of how I had yielded so oft and weakly while 
in Bath to divers temptations ; and of how, in this 
peaceful, sequestered hamlet by the sea, the one 
great trial of my life thus far had overshadowed it 
and threatened to scoop up my happiness forever, 
just as the wild ocean swept ships into its fathom- 
less abyss. 

I felt such a wild longing for James Keble, and 
such a repentance that I had, though forsooth mis- 
chievously, given him many a sorrowful pang, that 
all at once I burst into bitter, bitter tears, and felt 
as if my own heart would break. 

I sat with my head buried in my hands a long 
time, utterly forgetful of how near the water I was. 
All at once I was half covered with a dash of surf 
that might have swept a less sturdy damsel out to 
sea. I was so frightened and so cold that I sprang 
to my feet and leaped up the rocks before looking 
behind me. When I turned, I saw that the mist 
had gathered so thickly that the view was shut 
away by a closely-circling wall of gray fog. But 
the roar of the ocean and the lashing of the surf, 
together with a moaning, wailing cry I have ever 
noticed the wind to have when a great storm is 
brooding, made me hurry, shivering, to our cottage. 


246 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


A huge peat fire was burning on the hearth of 
the sitting-room. Mother stood in the open door- 
way peering in the contrary direction from the one 
by which I came. I must, indeed, have looked 
sorry, for her eyes filled with tears as I suddenly 
attracted her attention. 

“ I have had a ducking, mother.” 

She turned pale, asking, “ Have you fallen into 
the water?” 

I made light of my adventure, for I was too 
proud to let even mother know that I was suffering. 

Speedily changing my clothing, I came back to 
the fire, before which I found father standing. He 
looked thoughtful, and ever and anon walked to 
the latticed window and peered out. 

What do you think of the weather, father ? ” I 
asked. “ It seems to me that the night will close 
in with a fierce storm.” 

“ So the fishermen say,” answered father, and 
went to the door. 

The wind blew it violently open as he unlatched it. 

Running to look out I beheld, half to my de- 
light and half to my dismay, the salt spray dashing 
to the very top of the cliff on which our cottage 
stood. All at once the thought of the fleet to which 


QUIGLEY, 


247 


James Keble’s ship belonged smote upon me. 
Why it had not done so before I know not. I felt 
faint, and staggered against father. 

He put his arm about me, and, guessing my 
thought, said, most gently, “ The fleet may be far 
out to sea by this time.’’ 

Nevertheless I knew that it was the fear of calam- 
ity to that company of brave vessels that made him 
restless. 

As the darkness gathered, early and thick, the 
wind increased to a mighty gale. But little rain 
fell, and then only in gusty, pelting showers that 
added to the awful lonesomeness of that night. 

I feigned a desire to go to bed soon after supper, 
but when I was locked in my little room I sat down 
on the wide window-ledge peering into the murky 
night. I sat there for many hours, hearing the 
break of the tempestuous sea, watching the fisher- 
men flit along the cliff with huge flambeaux, and 
praying constantly for safety and happiness to be 
the lot of James Keble. I must have fallen asleep, 
while looking and praying, and have slept most 
soundly ; and yet it seemed to me I had not slept 
at all, when I was startled by the booming of a 
cannon whose distressful peal appeared to echo at 


248 CICEL Y'S CHOICE, 

my very feet. There was a gray, dim light in the 
room, too, so that 1 knew morning was breaking. 

I hurried down stairs. None of the servants were 
about. Again that awful boom resounded. 

I rushed down to the very edge of the cliff. 

0 what a wild, fierce, tossing sea ! The mist had 
lifted, but hung like a pall in the near sky. I 
looked right and left, and, (T horrors ! washing 
toward the fatal reef, whose huge tooth had so 
fascinated me, was a ship, apparently abandoned, 
except for a handful of men clustering about the 
mainmast. Its jib and mainsail were torn away. 

1 sped like a gull along the shore, out the whole 
length of the seamy rock I had so often trodden, 
past one group of anxious watchers and another, till 
I reached father, an old sea-captain, and a couple 
of sailors. 

Father turned fairly white as he saw me, and 
commanded me to go back to the house. 

Nay, father, forgive me, but I cannot,” and be- 
fore he could prevent me I seized the captain’s 
glass, and, looking at the doomed ship, I brought 
to the very core of my vision that pitiful group of 
men. In their midst, with a face like marble, but 
grand and calm, was James Keble. 


QUIGLEY, 249 

It was like looking into his very soul at the gate 
of death. 

A mighty despair and determination seized me. 
I begged for the captain’s trumpet, which father 
did not dare gainsay me at such a dreadful time. 
Lifting it to my lips I sang out, through its blessed 
help, “ Don’t give up, James Keble, for Cicely 
Hunter’s sake. I am watching you from the ledge 
to your left.” 

I seized the glass again. Again that beloved 
face was so near, and, O, the change ! It was as 
though life had claimed a victim from the grave. 
A smile was in his eyes, and they were turned to 
the ledge. He had heard ! 

How can I describe the agony of that long sus- 
pense ? 

The reef was too far out for the ropes to reach. 
The vessel was stuck amidships on that fatal tooth. 
The decks leaned prone to seaward. Should the 
few men left be swept off by the heavy seas con- 
tinually breaking over them the chances were that 
they would be washed beyond all hope of help. 

Suddenly, while we were looking and wonder- 
ing, the vessel was lifted off the rock. She tottered 
an instant on the crest of the mighty billow that 


250 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


raised her, and then lunged forward and struck 
anew, jamming as far as her mainmast on a ledge, 
but the stern still swinging in deep water. She 
had struck nearer shore. There was now the 
shadow of a hope for the three men left ; three 
had been washed away. 

James Keble still clung to the mast. 

The fishermen threw ropes again, but in vain ! 
A boat was launched over and over, but each time 
it was tossed back like a shell. The ship trembled 
on her new moorings so that every moment we ex- 
pected to see her washed loose. But no ; she began 
slowly to pitch aft, for she was water-logged as 
well, and her position made the added weight give 
momentum to every fresh wave that smote her. 
All saw that she would plunge into the roaring 
deep before the strain broke her up or she drifted 
loose. The three men realized the new change, and 
were consulting together, when father, who had 
taken in the situation fully, rushed to the point 
nearest the vessel, and crying, “ Let me hurl the 
rope !” he flung it with all his tremendous strength. 

It reached the men. 

They caught it. 

They lashed it at long intervals around each one ; 


QUIGLEY. 


251 


then the signal was given ; it was hauled nearly 
taut, and they sprang into the water. 

I closed my eyes when I saw them tossed one 
after another against the rocks. 

When I tried to look again my sight was dark- 
ened. 

After what seemed an eternity, I heard a great 
shout go up — cheer upon cheer ! 

I found myself running with father, my hand in 
his. 

As we stopped my vision cleared. At my very 
feet lay James Keble — ah ! so white, so spent ! 

Crouching down, I took his dear head in my lap. 

“James,” I cried, into ears I feared were forever 
deaf to my entreaties, “ James, come back to 
Cicely ! ” 

Did he hear? A convulsive breath shook his 
frame. 

Father with others began efforts for his resusci- 
tation, although my darling was so knocked and 
bruised that, till that minute when his soul re- 
sponded to my entreaty, I think none doubted but 
that he was dead, as his companions were ; hope- 
lessly, pitilessly dead ! 

At length, after exertions for his recovery con- 


252 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


tinued so long that they seemed fruitless, he opened 
his languid eyes and looked up into mine with such 
surprise and love as if the sight of me were heaven ! 

He tried to reach his hand up to my face. 

It was father, dear father, who gently placed 
mine in that trembling grasp. 

“You saved his life. Cicely. He is yours.” 

I lifted my eyes in devoted thankfulness, I was 
too happy to say any thing. 


BV THE INGLE. 


253 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

By the Ingle. 

HOW different was the night-fall of that day 
of restoration in comparison with the dis- 
malness of the evening before! The wind was 
still blowing a gale. The clouds had drifted east- 
ward. A gorgeous sunset glow lit the west, tip- 
ping the green waves with rose and gold. The sky 
was as blue and smiling as if it had not looked 
down upon the dead. Indeed, it did seem to rejoice 
with me that night. 

I had gone to the door under the pretense of 
peering out, but really because my heart was so 
brimful of happiness that it would come into my 
face more than I was fully willing to let others see. 
I presently closed the door, for my joy was still so 
new that as soon as my eyes could not see James 
Keble, I half suspected it all a dream. 

I went over to the fire, around which father, 
mother, and he were sitting, and took a little chair 
that he had placed for me opposite his own, against 



254 


CICELY’S CHOICE, 


the jamb, and over which he had no hesitation in 
keeping guard as long as I was in it. 

Father and mother sat in front of the fire, and 
mother’s hand was in father’s. Should I ever sit 
thus calmly, I wondered, with my hand in James’s, 
not caring if others saw us true lovers? But still, 
when people have been married a long time, as 
father and mother have, there is dignity as well as 
beauty when, once in a while, they show a sign of 
all that lies underneath. 

There were no candles lighted. The curtains 
were left undrawn across the deep windows. The 
stars came out and made the night radiant. The 
fire was a big one, and lit up the walls and shone 
all over father and mother. Mother’s cheeks were 
as pink as a girl’s. It played over James Keble’s 
face and then left him in shadow, but whether in 
the light or shadow his eyes shone, and I knew that 
they saw every thing that I did, and I felt he could 
read every single thought I thought, for he was in 
them all. 

We talked on a great many themes — Bath first, 
which James said he liked not overwell ; that no 
place pleased him, however lovely, which was given 
over to frivolity and fashion. “ ’Twas different with 


BY THE INGLE. 


255 


a city,” he said, “ for there were such vast numbers 
in a great city that, so soon as fashion became arro- 
gant, numbers put it down, or at least the sensible 
could forget it.” 

Father nodded his head approvingly. 

Then the conversation fell upon Mr. Wesley, 
and all their faces softened, as faces do when the 
thoughts are of the beloved. 

We talked of the Church also, and whether the 
Methodists would ever leave it; and on this theme 
father and James were divided in opinion, father quot- 
ing Mr. Wesley’s own words, which, as nearly as I can 
remember, were in this wise: “ That he (Mr. Wes- 
ley) had no design of separating from the Church, 
that he did not believe the Methodists in general 
designed it, that he would do all in his power to 
prevent such an event, and that he declared he him- 
self would live and die a member of the Church of 
England.” 

“ He said to me,” replied James, “ that, neverthe- 
less, in spite of all that he could do, many would 
separate from it. Both Mr. John Wesley and his 
brother Charles think, however, that this event, 
whether for better or worse, will take place upon 

their death.” 

17 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


356 

Dear mother’s silvery voice now chimed in : Mr. 
Wesley told me that he considered the great work 
that he and his followers were called of God to do 
was for the purpose of provoking to jealousy the 
ordinary messengers ; that, as they were called to 
their work in the Church of England, they should 
still remain Church of England men.” 

As all the others had spoken, I now felt that it 
was my turn, and I asked : ‘‘ Why, then, does dear 
Mr. Wesley deviate from the rules of the Church, 
in preaching abroad, in composing his own prayers, 
in forming societies that worship in foundries, fields, 
and houses, and in employing all kinds of men to 
preach, on whom the bishop has not laid hands?” 

My lover looked at me with delight, and before he 
answered, which he made quick to do, said, “ I am 
glad. Miss Cicely, to discover that you have thought 
so soberly on this grave theme. Mr. Wesley ex- 
plains what many call his inconsistency by saying 
that all must allow him to be inconsistent unless 
they observe two principles on which he acts. The 
first is that he himself would not dare separate from 
the Church, because he believes that it would be a 
sin to do so ; the second is that he believes it would 
be a sin not to vary from it in the very points that 


BY THE INGLE. 


257 


you have mentioned. His two principles are, in 
brief, that he will not separate from the Church, and 
that he will, upon necessity, vary from it.” 

Such principles,” mother observed, with much 
quietness and solemnity, “ mean, practically, as 
much as the Declaration of Independence of the 
colonies. But they are right principles.” 

“ I agree with you,” said my lover. “ There is 
sure to be a new Church, which, I hope, will be called 
the Methodist Episcopal, binding together all that 
is beautiful and sacred in the old Church and keep- 
ing in faithful practice all that has made Mr. Wes- 
ley’s ministration one of might and godliness.” 

“ Let the might and godliness remain in the dear 
mother Church,” said father, reverently. 

‘‘ Mr. Keble,” I said, “ I am curious to hear how 
you became a believer in the new teaching.” 

“ As Nicodemus,” he answered. “ I went to Mr. 
Wesley by night, hoping, I now see, to both find 
a new truth and keep it secret. But when the glo- 
rious light of repentance by faith and the witness 
of the Spirit were given to me, how could I keep 
them secret?” 

We all sat silent then for a while, I looking into 
the fire and trying to make pictures in it. But the 


258 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


only ones that would come were the thousands that 
I had seen gathered together in the meadows along 
the Avon, and in their midst the snowy head and 
angelic face of the great preacher and the trio of 
young men singing, When I survey the wondrous 
cross/’ 

It seemed to me, as I thought over that eventful 
morning, that a blessed, beautiful way to spend my 
life would be in doing all that I could for poor souls 
that knew naught of Him who grew dearer to me 
every day. Before I was aware I was saying softly 
to myself, ‘‘ Lord Jesus, show me what I shall do.” 

It was father who first spoke again. 

“ Tell me, Mr. Keble, what you think of Mr. Wes- 
ley’s views on the uses of wealth.” 

“Did you ever read his sermon from Jeremiah 
viii, 22?” he asked, I thought, most discreetly, for 
it must be a difficult thing for a man of modest 
possessions, and young, too, to express a frank 
opinion to one much older and of vast wealth. 

Father said, “ No.” 

Mother rose and brought a Bible, and, opening it, 
she read the text a little slowly as the fire flickered. 
Mother’s voice is ever low and impressive, but I am 
sure any one in the farthest corner of the room 


BV THE INGLE. 


259 


could have heard : “ Is there no balm in Gilead ? is 
there no physician there ? why then is not the health 
of the daughter of my people recovered ? ” 

Certainly such a medical text as that could not 
fail to attract father’s closest attention, even had 
he not been previously interested. But I could not 
see what it had to do with riches. Mother herself 
looked up very inquiringly at Mr. Keble. 

He answered : “ In his sermon Mr. Wesley tried 
to answer the question, ‘ Why has Christianity done 
so little good in the world ? ’ by showing that Chris- 
tians were either bent on gaining all they could or 
saving all they could, instead of giving all they 
could. In another sermon which I heard him preach 
myself from the text : ‘ If riches increase set not 
thine heart upon them,’ he said, ‘ Unless thou give a 
full tenth of thy substance, of thy fixed and occa- 
sional income, thou dost undoubtedly set thy heart 
upon thy gold, and it will eat thy flesh as fire" ” 

I have often heard him express similar views,” 
said father, but so quietly that I could not gather 
his opinion of them ; “ such, for instance, as leav- 
ing so little to one’s children that they must need 
to add to the income much honest industry in order 
to live.” 


26 o 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


I blushed a little consciously, not that I feared 
but that father’s care of me would be fatherly, but 
lest James Keble should become too mindful that 
he was poor in comparison with us. I liked well 
that never in his word or demeanor had there been 
aught to suggest that he did not have as much, for 
instance, as my Lord Carew. 

He leveled his heavy black brows a second, 
looked steadily at father — though never once at m.e 
— and said, “You asked me. Sir William, what I 
thought of Mr. Wesley’s views. For a society 
nearly advanced to perfection, I approve them all. 
I believe that Christians in all stages of social ad- 
vancement should give what they can, but that each 
man is to judge for himself in such a matter. As 
for not setting my heart on riches, how can I tell 
how great the temptation or how sweet the indul- 
gence, since I have never been tried ? Having beheld 
in my ministrations and lay-preaching among the 
poor the awful wretchedness that poverty induces, I 
say, Mr. Wesley notwithstanding, that a man who 
can ought, so far as is in his power, to lift his family 
above all possibility of such misery. Does God dole 
out his riches to his children for the sake of those 
who are not his children in a niggardly manner?” 


BY THE INGLE, 


261 

“ Right ! right ! young man,” said father. “ And 
I’ll warrant it cost you an effort to speak so boldly.” 

“ Nay, Sir William, you mistake me there. Al- 
though riches are not to be despised, I think that 
man well-nigh a fool who stands in awe of them, or, 
because of them, of their representatives. Should 
I do this, I should feel myself less an English gen- 
tleman, and by so much less your equal ; though, 
believe me. Sir William, I admit that I am greatly 
your inferior in experience and ability.” 

“ Time brings one and develops the other,” said 
father, warmly. 

“ I think, mother,” he continued, “ we shall have 
a proper son-in-law, and he will find that Cicely’s 
father is no niggard; hey? And now let us have 
prayers and to bed, for it is already late. Yet be- 
fore we do so tell me, young man, where you have 
preached.” 

“ I meant not to speak of that,” said Mr. Keble, 
flushing. “ I have preached aboard ship so often 
as I could get a few sailors and soldiers together, 
and when on laild, the last year, in some of the poor 
quarters of London, Mr. Wesley ever directing me. 
Perhaps I should add, Sir William, that I believe I 
have a call to give my whole time to this work, and 


262 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


have accordingly been on the point several times 
of resigning my commission.” 

This news was a blow to father. I was aware he 
believed Mr. Keble to be a man of such parts that 
he felt sure opportunity would make my lover as 
distinguished in the navy as he was himself in med- 
icine. He stood in deep thought fully five minutes, 
and then I ventured to say, with my heart in my 
mouth — for Mr. Keble’s declaration made all my 
longings to do good appear to be answered — “ Per- 
haps, dear father, your daughter Cicely has a call 
too.*’ 

Father looked at me in blank astonishment, but 
mother in unspeakable, gratified love. 

Father said, a little tremulously, I fancied, “ Fetch 
the prayer-book. Cicely.” 


THER'S DBA TH. 


263 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

Father’s Death. 

* THINK I have remembered so vividly every 
word that was spoken that last evening in the 
cottage, as it proved to be, because of the great 
change and grievous sorrow that were even then 
brooding over mother and me, and we knew it not. 

Father went to his room fully an hour before 
mother left me, for we sat together in my favorite 
window-seat, and talked most tenderly and comfort- 
ingly together. She filled me with joy by saying 
that the chief wish of her heart was gratified, be- 
cause I was to marry a man who was, above all else, 
a manly, outspoken Christian. 

When she left me I still lingered in the window, 
looking out at the tossing sea and the greensward 
near by, all glistening in the moonlight which 
flooded the earth so brilliantly that the shadows 
were as vivid as the light. 

It seemed but a minute before she returned. 
The first I knew of her presence was her dear voice 


264 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


full of suffering, and low almost to a whisper, as she 
exclaimed, ‘‘Cicely! ” 

I turned to see such a mute, white face. She 
beckoned me and I ran after her to father’s room. 

There, upon his knees, before a chair, his face 
fallen against its back, a book of family prayers 
open before him, he lay. 

“ Dead — Cicely — dead ! ” mother said, so heart- 
brokenly that only the great need upon me kept 
me from screaming with anguished fear. 

“ No, no, mother! ” I said. “ Call Mr. Keble.” 

It was but an instant before he entered the room, 
and then, together, we lifted father to the bed, rub- 
bing and chafing his hands and feet a long, long, 
weary time ; we tried to force stimulants through his 
purple lips. Mother called him by such endearing 
names as I did not know any heart could devise ; 
but he did not answer. It was daybreak before we 
gave over our futile efforts. 

O, the misery of being so far away from medical 
help in such an extremity ! We got a country prac- 
titioner toward noon of the next day. He said that 
father had died of heart disease. 

Our one thought was to get back to our dear 
home, and toward night we started. 


FA THER'S DEA TH. 


265 


Let me pass over the mournfulness of that slow 
journey to London, the sad, sad days that followed, 
and the unspeakable loneliness that settled down 
upon mother and me. We were so much, so utterly 
alone, for, to add to this bitter loss, the one friend 
on whom we either of us desired to call was sud- 
denly summoned back to duty, and sent away for 
one year. 

So we laid at rest the sacred body of our dear 
one, with no one near on whom we could lean. 

We took up the old life in the great house, but 
neither the life nor the house was the same. 

The autumn, with its fogs and short days, came. 
All was so changed that, after the past, and espe- 
cially the pleasant summer that had but lately been 
so real, the present seemed as visionary as a dream. 

One night in December we sat alone over the 
fire in the library. Marcus had just brought mother 
the keys of father’s offices, which were kept just as 
he had left them. Alas ! the throng of callers had 
ceased, and their order was sepulchral. The lect- 
ures that he was to have given lay written, but 
unused, in his desk. 

“ Daughter,” said mother, folding my hand be- 
tween hers, “ I think we have done wrong to shut 


266 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


ourselves away as we have, and dwell so constantly 
on our loss. My dear husband was busy night and 
day in helping others. Why should not you and I 
take up his work, doing it for his sake, in Christ’s 
name? Shall we?” 

Yes, mother.” 

And I have thought of our great wealth and of 
how much — too much — the income is for you and 
me. Let us give a thank-offering of the whole 
income, this year, that dear father is safely home. 
Shall we?” 

I said yes again, kissing her over and over. 

Was I wicked in turning to the future too 
strongly, or did I have my lover too much in my 
heart as I thought, this will be the beginning of 
the work I shall do with him all my life ? 

After that night, though we spoke of father daily 
— yes, hourly — every thing was brighter. It was as 
if he had come back. We lived his life, as well as 
ours, in a higher, better way than we had ever done 
before. 

No sister of charity went on more errands of 
mercy than did mother that cold winter. The 
temptations that I had ever and anon to frivolity 
and worldliness and the foolish parade of fashion 


FATHER'S DEATH 


267 


became fewer and fewer, as I learned how paltry 
and small and selfish the world of fashion is com- 
pared with the vast world of want and suffering, 
and the love and unselfishness of souls with whom 
I came in contact every day, doing good and say- 
ing nothing of it ; indeed, not knowing what a 
bright light their good deeds shed. 


268 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


CHAPTER XXV. 

My Wedding. 

was April before we had tidings of my lover’s 
return. He wrote me then that we could ex- 
pect him in May, wind and weather and a good 
Providence favoring. 

No spring that I remember ever glided out of the 
cold and cheerless and mournful winter as did that 
spring which brought James home to me. Flowers 
never grew in such profusion. Skies never covered 
me with a canopy so loving. The very air had new 
life and hope in it. The solemn peace of the nights 
when the stars shone clear and calm above London, 
forbidding the fogs and smoke to rule, ever lifted 
my thoughts to the heavenly Father and my other 
beloved father gone before us. I had a strange, 
deep peace of heart, much of the time, that I am 
sure was sent to me because I entreated for it 
daily, mindful of those words: “Whatsoever ye 
shall ask, in my name, believing.” It was such a 
sweet, pervasive peace, that I believe even the loss 


MV WEDDING. 


269 


of James, who is so unspeakably dear to me, could 
not have taken it away. It is, indeed, a peace which 
passes understanding. 

He came home, more manly than ever. His step 
was music through the quiet corridors. Mother had 
a son. I had such a lover as I believe never fell to 
the happy fortune of another girl. 

Mr. Wesley came back, also, after a long absence, 
during which he had visited many Conferences in 
Scotland, Ireland, and England, as well as made a 
trip to Holland, where his presence was a wonderful 
inspiration to the converts to the new teaching 
among the Dutch. Indeed, it is marvelous how 
wide-spread the religious enthusiasm is which had 
its real beginning among a little band of students at 
Oxford, and has grown and increased to its present 
magnitude because a handful of men have been 
instant in season and out of season in doing the 
Lord’s work. James says that there is a great work 
also being done in the New World, especially in 
the colonies, or, rather, the United States, as they 
must now be called. He is deeply impressed with 
the spirit, independence, and enterprise of the 
American people. All that he saw while stopping 
in three of their chief ports, named Baltimore, 


270 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


Philadelphia, and New York, has confirmed him in 
the view that Methodism in the New World will be 
separate from the Church of England. He is, in- 
deed, so inspired with the magnificent possibilities 
for Mr. Wesley’s methods in America that he has a 
burning desire to make his home there and give 
himself up absolutely to religious work. He has 
not dared broach this new scheme to mother yet, 
as her heart appears set on James and me making 
our home with her — James having for his use ’fa- 
ther’s offices and general belongings. She is rejoiced 
to have him resign his commission, which he has 
already taken steps to do ; as well as to have him 
study for orders, which, to my surprise, she has some- 
how taken for granted would also be his purpose. 

Mother, since father’s death, is surprisingly of 
Mr. Wesley’s way of thinking — that is, she expects 
to live and die a Church woman and at the same 
time be a Methodist. James says that these two 
things are, in essence, incompatible. They would 
be for him, I allow; and what he does I shall do. 
As for mother, I am secretly glad that she holds in 
general to the Church in which she was brought up, 
and which is hallowed to her by all the associations 
of a perfect married life. 


MV WEDDING. 


27r 


James tells me that I grow more like mother 
every day. I wish I could think so, but I know 
that I am more like father. 

Mr. Wesley told me the other night, in a quiet 
talk we had together, that James has the very spirit 
of an apostle, and that, if his burning zeal be 
maintained in full spiritual power, there is no meas- 
uring the good he will accomplish. Mr. Wesley 
would have him enter at once upon his work as a 
fully authorized lay preacher. But James says no, 
that he does not yet know enough — although, to me, 
his learning is marvelous. Though but twenty-seven 
years old, he has not only won honors in the navy, 
is well versed in music, but he has also finished at 
Cambridge with high honors, even taking the prize 
of Senior Wrangler. He is all for studying theology, 
however, and has made arrangements for so doing, 
as well as for acquiring a thorough knowledge of 
medicine, so that he can, like Mr. Wesley, cure 
bodies while he is healing souls. 

I have humbly to admit that the one thing 
I know well is music. But James, having the 
same notion that father had, is making many 
beautiful plans for my study with him. I have at 

least learned one thing that is not taught at Mistress 
18 


272 


CICELY'S CHOICE. 


Hervey’s, and that is that an education is never 
finished. 

We are in as curious a social position as a family 
can well be. Some of our fashionable friends have 
cut us square ; others tolerate us, and a few hang 
about us with an uneasy fascination, as if they dared 
not quite let us go. Dear mother cannot realize 
how much a Methodist she is considered. As for 
the Marchioness of Downing, she has been free to 
say that, if she could deny the relationship, she 
gladly would. What has hurt mother deeply is that 
his majesty has written her a letter of inquiry con- 
cerning her “ new and strange associations,” coupled 
with an admonition to be mindful of the name, 
learning, and title which have been left to her keep- 
ing worthily to maintain.” 

I begin to think, with James, that a new land, and 
a society which knows neither royalty nor nobility, 
is the happiest land for those whose mission is to be 
all things to all men in Christ’s name. 

Since I writ the last, two months have intervened. 

Every thing is settled for my wedding, which 
takes place this day week in City Road Chapel, 
at ten of the clock in the morning. Mr. Wesley is 
to marry us, assisted by his brother, the Reverend 


MV WEDDING, 


273 


Charles Wesley, and there are to be none present 
outside of our nearest relations except dear Sir 
Joshua. 

James has lavished rare and beautiful gifts upon 
me, which Mr. Wesley admires as tokens of abun- 
dant love ; but I think he almost fears that James’s 
heart is too much set upon me. Once he said so to 
my lover, who looked down on the little man, a great 
light flashing in his hazel eyes, as he replied : 

“ Yea, I love her, even as Christ loves the Church. 
She is to me like Solomon’s temple, and naught 
shall ever be spared, so long as I have the power, 
to truly beautify and adorn her.” He leaned down 
then and kissed me. 

Mr. Wesley turned away, but I saw that he was 
deeply moved, and his eyes were full of tears. The 
saintly old man is homeless. 

I shall now make the last entry, dear aunt, in this 
account of my life, especially as the glad tidings are 
just at hand that uncle is to be transferred from 
India, and that you are really, after all, to end your 
days in “ Merrie England.” 

Your niece Cicely is married. She bears the 
name of Keble, which she once despised and of 
which she is now so proud, and, to quote King 


274 


CICELY'S CHOICE, 


George’s words anew, most anxious “ worthily to 
maintain.” 

We were married by the holy and beautiful serv- 
ice of the Church. 

The day was clear, and the chapel was flooded 
with sunlight as we walked up the aisle and present- 
ed ourselves before Mr. Wesley. The radiant 
light crept in on all sides, falling upon mother’s fair 
hair, and even relieving the soft folds of her crepe 
dress. It flickered on the loose ruffles shading my 
afflanced’s hands, and made a silvery halo over the 
snowy locks of the reverend brothers. I saw it all, 
although my mind was absorbed with the great and 
solemn change about to come into my life. 

I suppose I was very simply dressed for a bride, 
but James said I never looked so beautiful. My 
gown was of soft gray silk, made with a bodice above 
which came a tight-fitting white waist of India mull 
and lace. The sleeves reached to the elbow, and 
were finished there with an ample flow of finest 
lace. I wore a cluster of red roses tucked in my 
bosom and a couple in my hair. James picked them 
on our wedding morning and asked me to wear 
them. There were numerous little furbelows and 
finishings, all necessary and suitable ; but mother 


MV WEDDING. 


275 


will tell you of these some time, I wish you could 
look in on us this evening. 

Mr. Wesley is stopping over night with us, and 
sits before the fire reading George Herbert’s ser- 
mons. James is also bent over a book, for his 
studies have begun. He is too handsome for me 
to take my eyes from him long at a time. Mother 
sits with her hands folded in her lap, thinking ; but 
she does not look unhappy, though ’tis settled that, 
when my husband finishes his studies, he and I are 
to go to America as Methodists. 

We shall make our home in New York, which is 
a city I begin to long to see. James thinks we may 
live on a point called the Battery, which commands 
a view of one of the most beautiful harbors in the 
world. 

If I am as content then as I am now, and if I can 
do as much good there as I have an opportunity of 
doing here, and if mother will consent to cross the 
ocean with us, what more can I ask in this life ? 

It is time for prayers. James has already laid 
the Bible on Mr. Wesley’s knees. * 

Adieu, from a heart brimful of peace and happi- 
ness. 


THE END. 



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